A Way to Freedom
by Rachel Lyse Brook
Summary: Meet John Watson. Only he's not John, he's Joan, who has spent her entire life pretending to be a man to get by in her world. She knows it's a bad idea to move in with a man who can tell someone's life story in a glance, but she does it anyway.
1. Prologue

**Plot: **Meet Dr. John Watson, MD. Only he's not actually John Watson, he's Joan Watson, who's spent nearly her entire life pretending to be a man just to get through med school, the army, etc. She knows it's a really, really bad idea to move in with a man who can tell someone's life story in a glance, but she does it anyway.

**The Setting:** Alternate universe where woman are nothing more than a body, no voice, no freedoms. In this male dominate society, all is ruled by men, but there are whispers of a Woman's Underground. A legend of a brave woman who will brave the man's world to bring women to light.

Prompt from sherlockbbc_fic . livejournal . com

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_That was the day. _

_The day that changed my life forever._

_I was only 5, just a child, but it is a day I will never forget._

_Daddy told me to hide in a closet and not to come out unless the house was empty._

_I didn't argue with him. I can't argue with Dad. He's in charge and I love him._

_As soon as I was safely tucked into the closet, a loud crash was heard from outside._

"_Police! Open up!"_

_Dad must have let them in because I later found the door intact._

_I could hear shouting from down stairs._

"_Henry Watson, you are under arrest." I heard a male voice say._

"_On what charges?" My mother called out, followed shortly by what sounded like a slap._

"_Silence, woman," Another man said._

_It took all my self-control to stay within the closet, my ear pressed against the door, trying to hear what was going on outside._

_It sounded like struggling. And crying. Mummy was crying…_

_And then, I heard my father's voice, singing. Singing the lullaby that will forever remain in my mind._

_And then there is a slam…followed by silence._

_I don't know how long I remained in that closet for…_

_Harry found me. My big sister._

"_Joan." She said when she opened the door to the closet, her tall, womanly form towering over my cowering one. She had just turned 17._

_I looked up at her, and I just knew. I knew Mum and Dad were gone forever._

_Harry took me home that night, her home, the one I would call home for many years._

_And that night, Joan Watson died. And in her place came John H. Watson. _


	2. A Meeting by Chance

_Invalid. Shot in the shoulder. Sent home. _'So why does my leg hurt?'

I was limping through the park, heading to nowhere in particular…just needed to get out of that dastardly apartment.

Ugh. How I miss Afghanistan! I feel so use—

"John!" A voice broke through my thoughts. "John Watson!"

I didn't think seeing Mike again would have such an effect on my life…

He invited me to coffee and we talked about many different subjects: our lives, jobs, where I was living…

"I can't afford London on an army pension."

"And the John Watson I knew couldn't bear to live anywhere else."

"That was a different John Watson." My hand started to shake. Ugh. I hate this. The weakness!

"How about getting a flat share or something?"

I scoffed, though the mere thought of having a flat mate terrified me. I have a secret to hide after all… "Who'd want me for a flat mate?"

Mike chuckled, a strange gleam entering his eyes.

"What?"

"You're the second person to say that to me today."

I was stunned. Really? "Who was the first?"

I didn't really know what to expect of this new "potential flat mate." Mike wouldn't give any details as we took the cab to our location.

Actually, he blatantly refused to say anything about this mysterious person, regardless of my asking.

After a time, I decided to just let the matter lie. I was going to find out one way or another anyway.

We soon arrived at Bart's. I hid a smile at the sight of the old training hospital. Somehow, I had managed to be trained here as a doctor right under the nose of men… a dangerous move on my part, but I had to do it.

For Mum, for Dad, for Harry.

Mike led me to the old lab room, which I soon discovered had been newly furnished with more modern equipment. I chuckled as I looked around.

"A bit different from my day," I joked.

"You have no idea," Mike replied good-naturedly.

"Mike," A new voice said, grabbing my attention. "Can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

The man who spoke was a dark haired man in a rather nice looking suit, looking into a microscope. I assumed this was the "potential flat mate" Mike spoke of.

"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked.

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry, left it in my other coat."

I wasn't sure why, but that statement had that ring of a long running joke to it…

The dark haired man's shoulders slumped slightly, but it very likely could have been from him looking back into his microscope. And… well, being the "nice guy" that I am, I dug out my cell, the one that Harry gave to me.

"Here." I said, holding the device up. "Use mine."

The man looked up, as if this was the first time he was taking notice of me (which was likely, considering that he seemed very intent on studying the specimen on his microscope). And this didn't bother me. I'm used to being looked over. It is how I've been able to survive in this man dominated world…

"Oh." He said, standing. "Thank you." He walked over to me and took the phone.

For a moment, our eyes met…and I wondered why I felt that this was a turning point…that, if I make the right choice, my life will change forever…

…For some reason, a rush very similar to the one I felt back in Afghanistan rushed though me…like I was needed…

"Afghanistan or Iraq."

My heart froze.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" He was looking at me with an amused expression. I wasn't quite sure how to react…

I shifted my feet, straightening up into my "soldier poise." _Can he read minds? _"Afghanistan. I'm sorry, how did you—"

Suddenly, a young woman came in with a cup of hot liquid.

"Ah! Molly! Coffee! Thank you." The dark haired man took the cup and the woman skittered quickly out, reminding me of how, if Joan still existed, I would have to act.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

I looked at Mike, unsure if the dark haired man was talking to me or him.

Mike gave me the "answer him" look.

"I'm sorry, what?" I said, turning to face the dark haired man again.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking; sometimes I don't talk for days on end…would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." He smiled at that.

My gaze shifted to Mike. "You told him about me?"

"Not a word."

"Then who said anything about flat mates?"

"I did."

And suddenly I was very worried.

I had never heard of a man that could read so much from a situation without so much being spoken…

How much about me did he know?

"Is that it then?" I asked, as calmly as I could. "We just met and we are already going to look at a flat?"

"Problem?" He looked genuinely confused.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we are meeting; I don't even know you name."

He straightened and his storm colored eyes bore into me. "I know you are an army doctor, recently invalid from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help. I know you've got a therapist who thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite right, I'm afraid…."

I wasn't sure what to think…Who, no better yet, what is this man?

I soon got my answer.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winked at me. "Afternoon!"

And he was gone, leaving me in his wake.

"Yeah. He does that a lot." Mike said.

And, I had no response.

_Sherlock Holmes…_

Against my better judgment, I met with him the next day. . .


	3. A Study in Pink

**Welp, here is the second chapter. One day earlier than i expected to publish it! XD**

**Anyway, this chapter finishes off A Study in Pink. We'll be moving a bit faster from here on out. Assume that the case went exactly how it did in the series ;) **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! **

**Warning: Um... awkward moment from Angelo's? **

**Enjoy! ;)**

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><p>From the outside of 221B Baker St., the apartment looks normal. It's located in a moderately busy part of London and the building itself is unimpressive. Sturdy, in good working order, but nothing special.<p>

_Great, _I thought to myself as I walked towards the door._ Now I'm subconsciously comparing myself to buildings…_

I lifted the knocker.

"Hello." A voice said from behind me.

I turned as sharply as I could, my shoulder protesting at the movement, but I ignored it. "Ah! Mr. Holmes!"

"Sherlock, please," He smiled at me as we shook hands and I asked about the apartment.

"Oh the Landlady, Mrs. Hudson, is giving me a special offer." The tall man said, knocking and putting his hands behind his back. "A few years ago I was able to help her out when her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida."

My eyes widened. "You stopped his execution?"

He smiled at me, a strange twinkle in his eye. "Oh no, I ensured it."

I was in momentary shock. Most men that I've met in the past wouldn't have "helped a woman out" regardless of her husband being executed. In fact, most men wouldn't have decided to rent out a room from a woman or a widow for that matter.

Mrs. Hudson must be a special case…?

I soon met said woman.

The door opened to reveal a short, older lady, perhaps in her 50's, with short blond graying hair and a widening smile. Her entire face seemed to light up at the sight of Sherlock. "Sherlock!"

Then Sherlock did something that startled me. He hugged the older woman and introduced her to me, by name.

And that's when I realized that Sherlock had called every woman I had seen with him thus far by name… which in of itself was odd.

I've heard the terms that most men called women, most of the not worth repeating. But none of those slurs escaped Sherlock's lips…

And that confused me.

Why did Sherlock…respect these women so much? Were they just special cases?

And Joan jumped within me, my heart quickening at the thought of Sherlock being one of _those_ men, men of legend.

_Chivalrous…_

I shook my head at the thought. I would need more evidence before I could place that label on Sherlock Holmes.

I said a polite hello as Mrs. Hudson let us in. As I passed her, warm, dark eyes locked on my face…and suddenly, I felt time stop for a moment.

A small smile tugged at her lip…

And I'm not sure how, but I knew that she knew my secret.

Just by one look.

She didn't say anything, just nodded and let me pass.

My gut clenched and I barely stopped myself from swallowing hard. If Mrs. Hudson could figure me out…it was only a matter of time before Sherlock did…

And yet, I still decided to move in.

Even after being kidnapped…

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><p>It was dark. My leg was really bothering me. And I just seemed unable to get a taxi driver's attention…<p>

Sherlock had left me behind.

I wondered if I should be bothered by this.

Donavan had said I should be. But in all honesty, I didn't care very much for her. She was Anderson's "assistant" and I really despised that job and couldn't even think about respecting a woman who would subject herself to such a job. Sure, some women had no choice, but it was obvious that Sally did.

Now Molly, I could easily respect her, even if I knew nothing about her. Molly was just a coffee girl, a position that made reasonable money without being flashy. It was one of the more "respectable" (at least in the truest definition of the term).

An Assistant was a sexually flashy job, the truest form of degradation that I have ever seen. It was the highest paying job a woman could get… basically to be a permanent proverbial punching bag and sex toy for one man.

It's a disgusting job.

I've seen what happens to those girls. I'm a doctor after all.

Most women don't work in this day and age, and the career field is really small. All of the crucial jobs that keep the world functioning, i.e. medical, law, government, business, are given only to men.

Pushing these thoughts aside, I kept trying to hail a taxi…and was progressively becoming more and more annoyed with my day.

_Why, oh why did I decide to follow Sherlock!_

As I pass a phone booth, the phone rings.

At first I ignore it…but this is the third time since I left Laurelton Gardens that phones I have pasted started ringing for no reason…

So, I answer it.

"_There is a camera on the building to your right." _A male voice says of the line. "_Do you see it?"_

At first, I'm confused, and a silent alarm bell goes off in the back of my head. I straighten up. "Who is this? Who's speaking?"

"_Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?"_

I look to the building on my right and find the camera. "Yes I see it."

"_Watch."_

I do as the voice tells me, and the camera lens moves away from the street.

"_Now, there is another camera on the building in front of you…"_

Again, I found the camera and the moment I did, it too moved to look away from where I was.

"_And on the building to your left…"_

For a third time, the same thing happened.

"How are you doing this?"

"_Get in the car, Doctor Watson." _The voice said, a not so veiled threat coming though the voice. "_I would make some kind of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you."_

Just then, an unmarked black car pulled up in front of the telephone booth.

At first I considered not getting in…but my leg began to cramp…so I did as the voice said. Maybe I would get some answers…

There was a woman typing furiously on a blackberry in the back seat of the car, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what she was.

I had never met a woman who carried such an air of importance…and mystery.

I tried making small talk with her.

I should probably explain something before I go on.

Joan is straight as a pin.

"John" is also straight.

It's an act that I have to put on. And because of this, I was often viewed as "asexual" by lots of people in Med school and even in the military.

Not to say that "John" didn't date, just the mere idea of kissing a girl or even going further than that terrifies me. I have a secret to keep after all.

So even as "John" was "hitting on" Anthea, I was cringing on the inside. This is one of those occasions that I really wish I could avoid as "John."

Soon though, we arrived at our destination.

It was warehouse and in the center of the open room was a man in a nice suit with an umbrella and a chair beside him. He appeared to be waiting for me.

And for some reason, the sight of his face made my gut clench in worry and filled me with agitation.

"I have a phone, you know. If you wanted to get in contact with me, you could just call me, on my phone!"

The man had the gall to chuckle. "When one is trying to avoid the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one tends to use round about ways. I'm sure your leg is bothering you, please, have a seat."

My military training kicked into overdrive and I remained stubbornly standing. My leg be damned.

He gave a shrug and stood taller. He was just as tall as Sherlock, may be a bit shorter but still towered over me. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

I was kind of miffed by this. What. I met the man less than 36 hours ago and all of a sudden I'm black listed? This makes honestly no sense.

Or was there something about Sherlock Holmes that I should avoid? I do really not know a lot about him…

"I just met him yesterday—" I reply.

"Yes and now you are moving in and solving cases with him. Should we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

I frowned. Who the hell is this man?

"What is it to you?"

"If you do decide to move into 221B Baker St., I'd be willing to help you ease into it."

"For what?"

"Information, about Sherlock."

"Why would you need information on Sherlock?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"Who are you?"

"I'm the closest thing Sherlock has to a friend."

"And what would that be?"

"An enemy. Though he would most likely call me his archenemy."

This was getting bizarre very, very quickly.

Suddenly my phone buzzed. I pulled it out.

"I hope I'm not boring you." The Man said.

I looked at the screen. There was a message. I opened it.

_221B Baker St. If convenient please come. –SH_

How did Sherlock get my number?

"No." I replied to the man, closing my phone and putting it away. "Sorry, but I'm not interested."

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes boring into me. "I haven't even named a figure."

"I'm just not interested."

He lifts up his phone from the pocket of his suit jacket. "It says here you have trust issues."

_No dip. _I thought to myself. _If only you could know why…_

"Is it possible that you have decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

This really annoyed me. It's my bloody life. I can decide for myself who I want to trust and who I don't. So what if I decided to trust Sherlock? "I may be wrong," I shot back. "But I don't think that's any of your business."

My phone buzzed again.

_If inconvenient, come anyway. –SH_

And my mind was made up. I was tired of being bullied by this guy.

"I can see trying to dissuade you from moving in with Sherlock would be useless."

I glared up the man. "How's that?"

"You have tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks you have Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome." He holds out his hand. "Let's have a look."

"Don't." I already know the result.

He gives me a look and I surrender my hand. His hands are cold.

"He's wrong. You are under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." He gives me a partial grin. "Fire him. You don't fear the war, Doctor Watson. You miss it."

That statement hit me like a slap to the face. Is it wrong for me to miss being useful?

"When you run with Sherlock Holmes you see the battle field…" The man with the umbrella smiled. "You've seen it already. Welcome back."

I held in a growl. This was getting really annoying.

He begins to walk away, swinging his umbrella around. "Time to pick a side, Doctor Watson."

I stand there for a moment, so many emotions coursing through me. I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself.

"What address?" Anthea said, breaking me from my thoughts.

Before I can reply, my phone buzzes for the third time.

_Might be dangerous. –SH_

My mind was firmly made up. "Baker Street. 221B Baker Street." I said, climbing into the vehicle. "But I'll need to stop somewhere else and pick something up."

The man with the umbrella could go and fall off a cliff for all I care. He can't tell me what to do or not to do.

Or who to trust and who not to trust.

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><p>To be honest, Sherlock calling me back to Baker Street from half way across London was a bit annoying.<p>

But this, this was different.

I wasn't sure if Angelo was insinuating something, or he had seen though my disguise… but after a few moments I figured that Sherlock doesn't go out to eat often, and probably less often with someone else.

He was harmless. So I dropped the subject.

And that is how I found myself in this conversation.

"You know that people don't have archenemies."

Sherlock looked at me and blinked, as if slightly confused as to where this statement came from.

"In real life, people don't have archenemies."

"Seems a bit dull. What do normal people have then?" He asked, looking back out the window, waiting for our murderer to arrive.

"Friends. People they like. People they don't like. Boyfriends, girlfriends."

"Like I said before, dull."

For some reason I found this amusing, a small chuckle escaped my mouth. "You don't have a girlfriend?" In all honesty, I would have assumed that he would have had several admirers at least.

"Girlfriend, no. Not really my area."

I did a double take. "You have a boyfriend?" His eyes focused on me. "Which is fine, by the way." At that moment, my tongue slipped out of my mouth to wet my dry lips.

"I know. No."

I looked back at the menu. "Then you are unattached." And before I could stop myself, I whispered. "Just like me."

He heard me, unfortunately.

"John," Sherlock said. I was almost positive that I saw a faint blush light his cheeks. "I'm flattered but I should let you know that I consider myself married to my work—"

I nearly choked on my tongue that had treasonously escaped my mouth. "No. That's not what I— What I meant was that, it's all fine."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, not convinced, but let the matter lie, much to my relief.

That was way to close.

Fortunately, the moment was soon forgotten as we dashed though the streets of London after a taxi…

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><p>I had to shoot him.<p>

The Cabbie.

I told Sherlock the truth when I explained why I shot him.

He really wasn't a nice man. He killed four people and was about to kill a fifth, Sherlock's argument otherwise be damned. He's an idiot.

But I couldn't bring myself to fire my gun until Sherlock was really in trouble, with that damn pill hovering over his mouth…

Sherlock really is an idiot.

How he has managed to live this long surprises me.

Though I am grateful that he is alive and safe…at least for now.

The man did save me from myself after all. He brought Afghanistan back to me.

…and I owe him for that.

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><p><strong>And that is that. Next chapter will have a time jump. But i won't tell to when...<strong>

**Please Review! It helps trumendously!**

**3 Nephy**


	4. The Great Game

**Hello my wonderful readers!**

**Here is the third chapter as promised.**

**I hope you enjoy it.**

**KMC: Thank you so much for your comment. I very much appreciate your concern. I am working with the issue. I know this is a difficult thing to pull off. Please know that this is an AU as well as fiction. I shall work to the best of my ability to see that this story makes a much sense as possible.**

**A wonderful shout out to MrsCumberbatch who let me bounce ideas off of her for this chapter. You are great, MC! XD**

**Alright, enough from me. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Warning: ...Cliffy?**

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><p>If there is one thing that I am thankful for, it is that I do not suffer the severity of the "womanly curse" as my sister does.<p>

In fact, next to her, I don't have the "curse" at all…nor was I endowed with womanly gifts.

And that's not just because of the unique binding I wear about my chest…well, more accurately, my entire body. It's a skin suit of sorts… a suit that has allowed me to pass as a man for the physicals I had to stand for to enter the military…and real enough to fool the doctors that fixed up my shoulder after I was shot. It's really hard to explain just how it works, but it is rather convincing.

That is not to say, however, that I do not in fact _have_ the "womanly curse". Oh I have it.

It just likes to pop up at the worst times.

And ever since I met Sherlock…I can't explain how much fun God must be having with me.

Some months I'm able to function with my period and dealing with the rest of humanity, my flatmate included.

Other days…other days I really can't take Sherlock's antics…

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><p>"BUT IT'S THE SOLAR SYSTEM!" I exclaim at Sherlock.<p>

"Oh HELL! What does it matter? So, we go around the sun. If we went around the moon or 'round and round the garden like a teddy bear' it wouldn't make any difference!"

Honestly, I was at the end of my rope, but he continued.

"All that matters to me is the work. Without that my brain rots." Then he looked up at me. "Put that on your blog," he sneers. "Or better yet, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." And he curled on the couch with his back to me.

That was it. I can take him shooting the walls, him playing his violin at all hours, even the crazy body parts and the experiments.

But I just can't handle _this_ behavior.

Not today.

So I leave, not even caring when he asked me where I was going. He doesn't need to know.

I just need to get away from him.

I stayed at Sarah's that night.

The next morning I found out about the explosion…

And all my irritation at Sherlock flew out the window.

I practically ran back to 221B.

Fortunately, Sherlock was well and fine when I arrived.

And that's when the Game began.

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><p>I should have expected this.<p>

I should have at least seen the signs.

To know that when I left 221B that evening, the evening of the day Sherlock solved the fake painting that there was still one more pip…

One more victim…

But I didn't.

And so when I was kidnapped, I was practically kicking myself for not keeping a better eye out.

Honestly, did my military training escape my brain the moment I met Sherlock Bloody Holmes? This is the second time I've been kidnapped!

I found myself at a pool, being man handled by faceless men, chess pieces dressing a pawn for confrontation. That's the only thing that could come to mind as they forced my arms into a vest strapped with semtex and a large parka over it. Then, one of the men placed a device into my ear…_oh so I'll hear his voice. I'm a mouth piece then. Great._

"_Hello again, John Watson." _A disturbingly familiar voice said in my ear.

I froze, fighting to keep my face as neutral as possible, straightening as I allowed myself to revert into "soldier mode."

"_You recognize me!"_ Jim practically squealed in my ear. _"Good, that'll make this so much easier. You already know the rules."_

"Repeat exactly what you say or I get blown up."

Jim giggled. _"Oh this is fun. You have been the smartest of my voices….perhaps a bit too smart."_

The last part of his statement sent shivers down my spine.

"_You see, Johnny boy, this game has been loads of fun…but Sherlock is getting way to close for my liking." _He laughed. _"And you fell so perfectly into this little scheme."_

My stomach twisted into knots.

"_He's on his way here, and I need to have a proper chat with him…"_

"So why did you take me?" I knew I probably shouldn't have been asking such questions to a psychopath with a bomb strapped to my chest…but at this point I didn't care. I needed to know what game Moriarty was playing at.

"_Because…" _Suddenly his voice sounded much darker. _"I'm sure you can figure that out, Doctor Watson. You are a fairly intelligent person."_

My heart clenched at that, because I did know.

Moriarty had chosen me, because I was an anomaly.

My mind flashed back to meeting "Jim from IT" back at Bart's only 3 days ago. From my perspective, I was just Sherlock's "assistant," collogue, friend, whatever the hell we are.

But to an outsider, someone who didn't know my role, I don't make sense. I was with him, not looking at any specimen or even talking with him about the case the moment "Jim" showed up.

No. I was just standing there. An observer…someone Sherlock had obviously let in and was willing to talk with, but stayed in the background.

Just like I had always been, ever since I became John Watson.

I suddenly felt sick.

I was a weakness.

Worse, I was the hole in Sherlock's defenses, the point that anyone could use to get to the consulting detective.

And I had failed him.

I had failed my best friend.

I began to blink rapidly, trying to keep tears at bay.

"_Now you see, Johnny boy." _Moriarty said, glee filling his voice.

I desperately wanted him to shut up, to leave me alone.

To leave Sherlock alone.

But that wasn't going to happen.

I heard a door open and the sound of shoes walking on tile.

Then I heard his voice. "Brought you a little 'getting to know you' present."

I'm pretty sure my heart stopped.

"_Look whose here! Now you know the drill."_

I nodded, praying that Sherlock would forgive my stupidity, if we lived through this.

"_Go on, let's not keep him waiting._"

I stepped out to the pool and turned to face Sherlock. My best friend.

And nearly fell.

Sherlock's eyes were wide and his mouth was open. I could see a million thoughts pass though those storm colored eyes.

"Evening," I repeated after Moriarty, silently cursing him in every language I knew.

Sherlock was frozen to the spot. I began to blink hard again.

"_Sound a bit more causal, Johnny boy."_

"This is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock." I continued to repeat, sounding annoyed, but at Moriarty, not Sherlock. I wished he'd move. I wished he'd stop giving me the look that he gave me the day at Sebastian's office when I said I was his collogue, not his friend.

Much to my relief, Sherlock finally moved. "John…" He said, his voice sounding as if he had the wind knocked out of him. "What the hell?"

"Bet you never saw this coming."

He started walking towards me. Confusion playing across his features…he knew something was wrong.

"_Games up, Johnny boy. Show him our little present."_

I pulled my hands out of the parka's pockets and pulled the front of the jacket open, bringing into view the bomb…and a sniper's red laser sight.

"What…would…you…like me to…make him say…next?" My normal voice was coming back, trying desperately to remain calm, adrenaline pulsing in my veins. Sherlock began looking around, the confusion gone, but a different look, one I never wanted to see again, covering his features. "Gottle 'o gear. Gottle 'o gear. Gottle 'o Gear…"

"Stop it!" Sherlock ordered.

I stopped myself from wincing at that. Knowing he was talking to Moriarty, not me.

"Nice touch, this. The pool… where little Carl died. I stopped him…" I paused, closing my eyes as I heard what I was to say next ring in my brain. "I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart."

The threat did not sit well with Sherlock. "Who are you?" He yelled. Demanded.

Another door opened and I heard "Jim from IT's" voice.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call."

I didn't see Moriarty enter the pool. I just watched Sherlock.

I was both relieved that Sherlock had brought my gun with him. At least he wasn't going to be an idiot about meeting with Moriarty.

I listened to every word they said, saving it into my memory, knowing that if we survived this, I would need to give an accurate account of what was said.

When Sherlock armed the gun, I straightened, knowing that even though Sherlock had the gun, Moriarty held a bomb and a riffle.

Sherlock kept glancing between me and Moriarty. I'm pretty sure he was trying very hard not to do so, but his eyes seemed to move of their own accord…

It was almost as if he was assuring himself that I was still there.

"People have died." Sherlock said, with such finality that I wondered if he really did care, despite the whole "I'm a Sociopath" rant.

"That's what people DO!" Moriarty shot back.

And that's when I knew.

I knew that the man we were dealing with was a true psychopath.

And the man before me, Sherlock Holmes, needed to get out of here. Alive.

When Moriarty was finally in my line of sight…I saw my chance and jumped him, one of my arms around his neck and the other locking his arm behind his back. "Sherlock! RUN!"

But Sherlock didn't move. In fact, he stood there, gun still locked on Moriarty's head…though it was obvious that I had startled him.

Moriarty laughed. "GOOD! Very good!"

"Your sniper, Mr. Moriarty, if he fires, we both go up."

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you keep him around. Though people do get very sentimental about their pets. So touchingly loyal," His face was so close to mine, I moved away, adjusting my grip so that I had a better grip on the psychopath. "but… OOPS!"

He began to laugh. "You have rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

Suddenly, I saw a flash of red...on Sherlock's forehead.

Another sniper.

Damn.

"Gotcha." Moriarty said.

I released him quickly. Sherlock had to escape alive.

To my relief, the sniper sight left Sherlock the moment I backed away from Moriarty.

"Do you know what happens to you if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? Do you?"

"Oh let me guess, I get killed."

"Kill you? No. Not the obvious. I mean, I will kill you someday, but I don't want to rush it. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no. If you don't stop prying…I will burn you." His voice dropped into a tone that was so menacing, it sent chills down my spine. "I will burn the _Heart_ out of you."

But it was Sherlock's reply that sent ice running though my veins.

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one."

There was a smile in Moriarty's voice as he replied. "Now, we both know that's not true."

Blood was pounding in my ears.

And… suddenly he was gone.

For a moment, Sherlock and I stood in silence…and then Sherlock's neutral face shattered.

He looked at me, and his eyes widened larger than I have ever seen them.

He practically threw the live gun to the ground and started unclasping the bomb vest.

My legs suddenly felt like jello and I threw my head back to try and keep some balance. I was breathing way to hard.

"…alright." I heard Sherlock say. "Are you ALRIGHT?" His voice was desperate.

"Yes. I'm fine, Sherlock." He yanked the parka hard off of my shoulders, my shoulder screaming in protest. "SHERLOCK!"

He slid the bomb as far from us as he possibly could and disappeared.

And my legs gave out. "Oh dear," I said as I stumbled towards the wall. I leaned against it and slid down.

After a moment, Sherlock returned, pacing the length of tile between me and the pool, scratching his head with the barrel of the gun.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Meyeahfine." He said quickly, continuing to pace. "That-ah- thing. The thing that you-ah- offered to do… that was… good." He said, waving that damned gun around. I knew that was his way of saying thanks so I let it stand. I just wished my heart would stop wanting to burst out of my chest….well that and that he would calm down.

"I'm glad no one saw that." I stated.

He rubbed the gun across his mouth. "Hm?"

"You. Ripping my clothes off in a darken swimming pool. People might talk."

"People do little else," he replied and after a moment smiled.

I smiled back, starting to feel much better now that he was calm. As I rose to my feet I looked down at my chest…

And a sniper sight was on me…

_Dammit._

I remained in a semi kneeling position on the wall, back straight. Back at war.

"Sorry boys. I'm SO Changeable!"

I looked up at Sherlock, ignoring Moriarty. There were sniper sights all over his chest.

My heart began to race all over again.

Sherlock was looking at me, a message hidden in his eyes.

"I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

I locked eyes with Sherlock. There was a question there.

_Do you trust me?_

And without a moment's hesitation, I nodded.

Sherlock turned on Moriarty, gun aimed. "Probably my answer has already crossed yours." He lowered the gun from Moriarty's face to where the bomb lay.

I swallowed thickly, tensing. And Sherlock fired.

As the bullet flew through the air towards the vest, I lunged for Sherlock.

The moment I slammed into his body I felt the pressure of an explosion in my ears…followed by a slap of water to my face.

I tightened my arms around Sherlock…a single thought running through my head.

_Please, God, let us live._

Then I saw blackness.

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><p><strong>Yes. I can be evil. Reviews are wonderful.<strong>

**Next chapter: An interesting discovery? Maybe...**


	5. Finding the Secret

**A/N: YOU GUIES! Over a 1000 hits, 40 Story Alerts, and 11 Faves! I'm blushing! I'm so glad so many people are enjoying my story! XD**

**I love you guys! **

**Really and truly, thank you so much! **

**And as promised, here is the relief to the cliffhanger I left with you guys in the last chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

**Warning: Change in point of view (only for this chapter. it's be 3****rd**** person), partcial nudity (just no shirts, nothing serious)**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Sherlock pulls himself to the surface, gasping for breath as he broke through the watery membrane that kept him down. He blinks the water from his eyes, taking in his surroundings.<p>

The pool where Carl Powers died is no longer truly recognizable.

The area where the bomb had been is rubble. The walls are blown out and collapsed, the balcony sagging precariously from a hole that had been blown through it.

Moriarty was nowhere in sight.

And Sherlock had a feeling that he wasn't dead.

He starts swimming towards the side of the pool, when he remembered just how he ended up in the water.

_John_…

Sherlock froze, his eyes looking everywhere for John….

When he found the other man, ice flowed into his veins.

John is floating face up in the water, arms and legs limp, eyes closed…

And blood floating in the water around him.

Barely holding in a rush of panic, Sherlock swam quickly over to his blogger. Hooking a long arm around John's chest, the consulting detective swims towards the edge of the pool and hauled the smaller man out of the water, onto the deck.

Hands shaking, he tries to remember how to do CPR…

_Feel for a pulse._

It was there…faintly.

He leans over John, putting an ear to his nose.

He can't feel the other man breathing.

_How long has he been unconscious? Did he breathe in water? How do I get the water out of his lungs! _Sherlock pulls at his dark curls, demanding his mind to work faster. John's life is on the line!

_Turn him on his side._ A voice says in the back of his mind. _Make sure to open his mouth._

Sherlock does as the voice says.

Water flows out of John's mouth, but he does not cough or awaken.

Sherlock again checks for a pulse. It's still present.

Once all the water flows out of John's mouth, Sherlock turns him back onto his back, remembering just what he needed to do next.

Tilting John's chin back, Sherlock pinches John's nose closed gently and breathes into the man's mouth.

John's chest rises as air fills his lungs.

Sherlock turns his head so his ear is over John's mouth and counts slowly to five.

_Still not breathing._

_Breathe._

_One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. Four-one thousand. Five-one thousand. _

_Still not breathing._

_Breathe, John! Please, just breathe!_

_One- one thousand. Two-one thousand…._

Then he got his wish.

John coughs harshly, his body jerking with the force, and he starts breathing on his own, much to Sherlock's relief.

But he still does not awaken.

The consulting detective remembers the blood.

His well-trained, storm colored eyes scour over John's body, searching for the location of the blood.

There is a gash on John's forehead, another slicing open his upper right arm, and blood creeping though his shirt from his left side.

Sherlock quickly rips his jacket off, followed quickly by his now soaking shirt. Without a moment's hesitation, he rips the white fabric into long strips, and rings each one out so they are at least damp.

He knows the head wound is superficial. Head wounds tend to appear to bleed a lot, but they really don't…unless they are squirting.

The arm wound appears to only be oozing, so Sherlock turns his attention to the gash on John's side.

It's rather high, a slice though the skin between two ribs. It's looks terribly painful, and is bleeding profusely.

Sherlock washes some of the blood away to get a better look at the wound, trying to gauge just how many stitches John will need…

And his brow furrows.

Something about the edges of the skin around the cut don't seem…right?

He touches the edge of the wound with a careful finger, an eye shooting to John's face, hoping that he wasn't causing his flatmate any pain.

John remains unconscious.

Proceeding with caution, Sherlock pulled the skin of the open wound back just a bit.

And the skin separated into two layers of what appeared to be epidermis.

Sherlock frowned. _That wasn't normal._

Curiosity taking over, Sherlock took the upper layer between thumb and forefinger. Pulling back, he found more and more coming off of John.

It was a…suit? A suit of skin?

Why would John have a suit of skin?

Sherlock observes the skin beneath the "suit," and his confusion only escalating.

The skin underneath is perfectly fine, well, save for the cut on John's side and arm. No markings, burns, or lesions.

So why did…

What did John have to hide?

Knowing that this mystery would need to be solved later, Sherlock files it into his hard drive for later.

The detective sits the other man up and carefully strippes John of the small, thin jacket he wore and his button up shirt. Sherlock notes that neither of the garments belonged to John previously. Once the shirt was off, Sherlock sees several smaller scratches and cuts on John's back. Fortunately, his chest didn't have any…_most likely from holding me as we fell into the water._

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, Sherlock began to wrap one of the longer strips of what had been his shirt around John's torso, binding the wound closed with a decent amount of pressure.

_Binding…_

For some reason, the word stuck in Sherlock's brain and refused to budge.

There was a bit of mystery to it.

Binding.

Why would "binding" be important?

Why did it feel like…?

Oh…

OH!

Sherlock quickly finishes binding John's wounds and pulled out his cell. It was a bit waterlogged…he smiles slightly. He knows that the person who gave him this phone made sure it could work though anything.

He dials and put the phone to his ear, checking John's pulse.

The person on the other end wastes no time in picking up.

"It's me." Sherlock says, his voice a bit horse from the water. "I need assistance. Medical."

"_You've figured it out then?" _The person on the other end asks.

"Yes." Sherlock replies.

"_Where are you?"_

"The pool, where Carl Powers died."

"_I'll be there in ten minutes."_

"Thank you…Martha."

Sherlock hangs up, and looks back down at John.

_How did I miss that?_ He asks himself.

Of course, now he could see it. Little details that he had overlooked or not even gave a second look were coming into focus.

It was like looking at someone you thought you knew…and not knowing them at all.

_Who are you?_

"John" or whoever she was, moaned, her head turning to the side, her brows frowning in pain.

Without even thinking about it, Sherlock grabbs her hand and stroked her knuckles. "Sh…" He whispers. "You're safe, John. I'm here."

Slowly, "John" relaxes, but shivers slightly.

Sherlock takes his still slightly damp jacket and draps it over his blogger, knowing that it wouldn't keep her very warm, but it was better than being exposed to the elements, skin suit or no.

Suddenly, the door to the pool, the one that he had entered through only a half hour before, opens.

Mrs. Hudson walks out of the shadows, carrying two sets of blankets, a shadow behind her.

"We'll need to take her to a safe location. You'll have to carry her, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson says without fanfare.

The consulting detective nods, bringing one of "John's" arms across his shoulders, lifting her slowly from the ground so that her weight is completely on his side. The "shadow" behind Mrs. Hudson comes to the other side of "John" and pulls her other limp arm around its shoulders.

Satisfied with the arrangement, Mrs. Hudson leads the three out of the pool.

Joan Watson needed her help, and Martha Hudson was going to give it.

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><p><strong>And there you have it.<strong>

**So…who is Mrs. Hudson really?**

**You'll just have to wait and see…**

**Next chapter: Awakening, Revelations and…threats?**

**Please Review!**


	6. Awakening

**Hello again, my faithful readers. I apologize for the delay. I had every intention of posting this yesterday.**

**Just a few notes: We are returning back to Joan's POV first person. This chapter is a bit choppy, but it's necessary for the plot. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Warning: Partial nudity, nothing explicit though.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>I don't remember much of what happened next, just that my consciousness would fade in and out, which I found odd.<p>

_What happened to me?_

_Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…_

I wished someone would turn off that insensate noise. _I'm trying to sleep!_

Thankfully the bliss of unconsciousness pulled me under…and I knew no more…

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><p>When I swam to the surface of my consciousness once more, I could hear voices this time.<p>

"…_been out for a long time."_

"_Be patient, dear. Her body is trying to heal itself."_

"_But why hasn't she woken, at least for a moment?"_

I tried to remember who those voices belonged to…I knew that I knew them.

And who were they talking about? Who is "she"?

Just as I was reaching for the memory, the black waters of unconsciousness pulled me under.

* * *

><p>I reached for the surface again.<p>

"_You should get some rest."_

I wasn't sure if the voice, a woman's voice, was speaking to me or to another person.

At this point, I was wondering why I could only hear.

I began to look for my hands. Some sort of indication that I could feel…

And I was pulled under once more.

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><p>"<em>Sherlock, I must insist that you get some rest!"<em>

Who was Sherlock? I know that I'm not Sherlock, I've been resting all this time, so the voice can't be talking to me. No. Sherlock is someone else.

But who?

"_Sleep is dull." _Another voice, a deeper voice said, closer.

Again, the familiarity of the voice struck me…but who was it?

And again, as I reached for the memory, I was pulled under.

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><p>The next time I "awoke," it was different.<p>

It was quiet…well, quieter, the beeping still ringing harshly in my ear.

And I could feel a pressure where my hand should have been.

"_You need to wake up, John."_ The deep voice said. _"You've been unconscious for three days now. You should have awoken a day and a half ago." _Then an order rang in my ears. _"Wake up."_

Now I have a name. I am John….but that doesn't seem right. John is not a girl's name….is it? A girl has been sleeping all this time.

So who is John? Who am I?

I felt panic begin to set in.

_Why can't I remember! Who am I?_

The bliss of blackness consumed me and my panic.

* * *

><p>Dreams, or perhaps memories, come to me when I fade into the blackness.<p>

There are gunshots.

I'm firing a gun and pressing a blood-soaked bandage to someone's chest.

"_JOHN!" _A voice screams in warning, but it's too late.

My shoulder roars in pain as a bullet drills its way through skin and muscle. It misses the major artery and vein. It bleeds and hurts.

But I must help my patient…

* * *

><p>The scene changes…<p>

I'm running through the streets of London, following a blue coat and black hair. My heart is pounding in my chest…and nothing hurts. Not my leg. Not my shoulder. Nothing. Just breathe and run.

I feel alive. More alive than I think I've ever felt in my life….

Suddenly, I'm locked away in a closet.

It's dark and muted inside the closet…but there are strange sounds coming from outside.

I open the closet slightly, letting a bit of light in…and with it a rush of sound.

"_Henry Watson," _A gruff voice…one that sounded distantly familiar. _"You are under arrest."_

"_On what charge?" _Another voice, a woman's voice, one that I knew I knew….but from a very far away memory.

"_Silence woman!" _A slap rang though my ears. _"Search the house…"_

Wait a second…that didn't sound right…

Something was wrong. This wasn't a memory anymore.

_No. Don't find me! Please don't find me!_

I looked out of the crack in the door, and I could see dark shadows hunting though the hall just outside.

One of the hunters looked into the room I was in…and our eyes met.

And I recognized those eyes…

_No…that can't be… No! This is a nightmare! Let me out!_

And then…there was blackness.

* * *

><p>Several dreams, memories, and almost waking up later… I finally awoke.<p>

Blinking up at the harsh white of the room around me, I began to take inventory of myself.

My head ached… there was a metallic taste in my mouth… but besides that, I couldn't tell much else.

_Hospital… Most likely been drugged… I was in an explosion after all…_

I frowned up at the ceiling. _I wasn't the only one in that explosion. Where's Sherlock?_

A face was hovering over me now, a man's face. As his features came into focus, I tried to place him.

"John?" He said. "John! Can you hear me?"

Who was John? I opened my mouth to respond, but all that came out was a harsh cough. My side roared in pain.

"John!" The man took my face in both hands. "Blink once if you can understand me."

_Oh. That's right. I'm John. So he must be…_ I did as he ordered.

The man's, Sherlock, face relaxed and I could feel his thumbs brushing my cheek bones kindly.

_Wait! Kindly? Did… did something happen?_

Confusion must have entered my eyes because he paused in his ministrations. "You're safe, John. Mrs. Hudson came and got us."

_Mrs. Hudson? _"Wh—" my voice cracked.

"She'll be here in a moment." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly, removing his hands from my face and straightening. "She wants to change your bandage. You've been unconscious for five days."

_Five days? Mrs. Hudson?_

Before I could attempt to ask, the door to the small hospital room opened to reveal Mrs. Hudson. Our landlady smiled at us and walks over to me. "How are you doing, dear?"

"Wher—" I started saying, but again my voice cracked.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes locked on Sherlock. "Sherlock, be a dear and get John some water."

Sherlock's eyes flick to me, but he does as Mrs. Hudson asks. Once the door is closed behind him, Mrs. Hudson approaches me. She leans down and whispers into my ear. "You are safe, Joan Watson."

I stiffen, my eyes widening and locking on her. So she did know…

"Don't worry. You are among friends here."

I wanted so desperately to believe that….but I had been hiding for so long. Terror was filling my being. I could hear my heart racing from the sound of the EKG.

"John! John!" I heard Mrs. Hudson shout. "Calm down! You need to calm down, don't worry. You are safe!"

Suddenly, the door to the room slams open, which doesn't help my panic _at all_. I stiffen, ready to fight. I'm back in Afghanistan. I have to defend—

There are hands on my face once again; I begin to fight against them…until I heard it.

"Captain Watson!"

I froze; something inside of me relaxing. The roaring of blood in my ears began to still. My vision came back into focus. Sherlock's eyes were very close to mine.

"How did you know my rank?" I asked; voice hoarse.

His hands left my face and pressed a paper cup of water into my hands. "I guessed." He replied with a shrug.

I didn't believe him, but was too exhausted to question him. Leaning back against the pillows of the hospital cot I was in, I tried to figure out just how much trouble I was in. I knew that Mrs. Hudson had known from the moment I met her hat I was not John, but how did she find out my real name?

And what was she going to do with me now?

_Did Sherlock know?_

Well it would only be a matter of time.

Sherlock was giving Mrs. Hudson a rather stern look. "Don't frighten him. He was just in an explosion."

Inside, I sighed in relief as I heard him call me by the male gender. On the outside, I just closed my eyes focusing on keeping the pain I had sparked in my side at bay. It really did hurt; drugs or no drugs.

Mrs. Hudson did not respond verbally until I heard the door to my room closed.

"Dear, I'm going to need you to sit up. I need to check your bandages."

I did as I was told, my mind trying to figure out how she had known.

Part of the answer soon became clear to me when I realized that I no longer wore my "skin suit."

I hadn't felt so naked (literally as well as figuratively) in years; stripped of not only my secret, but my name identified as well.

I was beginning to wonder why I hadn't been turned in already. Masquerading as a man was a capital offence after all.

"No one here means you any harm, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, as if reading my mind, as she removed the bloody bandages.

"How did you know?" I asked weakly.

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Besides the obvious when I was stitching you up?" Her chuckle faded. "I knew from the moment I met you and even years before that."

"How?"

"Your sister has…interesting friends. I'm surprised you didn't know about what she did when your back was turned."

I tilted my head carefully to the side. "What do you m—nevermind." I cut myself off. In all honesty, I didn't want to know, and it wasn't like I could process it in my drugged state.

"How else could you have gotten a suit that has saved your life on more than one occasion? A pity that it was destroyed in such a manner, all cut and burned."

I felt myself gulp. How was I to protect my identity now?

She finished cleaning and rewrapping my wounds. "I'll bring you a new binding shortly, dear. It isn't as extensive as the suit, but it'll do. Don't you fret. We'll keep that precious secret of yours a secret."

I really was beginning to wonder if she was a mind reader…but maybe it came from living with Sherlock for so long. I felt a faint smile touch my lips. "Thank you."

She smiled back at me. "You better cover yourself up, dear. Sherlock is probably itching to return." Her voice got really quiet as she whispered like a conspirator in my ear. "He hasn't left your side in days."

The knowledge that Sherlock had been by my side made heat rise on my cheeks. I'd never been one for blushing, but I flushed at that moment, taking comfort in his kind manner.

_Maybe he did care?_ A treacherous voice in the back of my mind whispered.

I pushed away such thoughts as Mrs. Hudson left and Sherlock returned…shockingly with food.

"Who are you," I stated in mock seriousness. "And what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?"

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><p><strong>And…partial cliffyish thing? *shrug*<strong>

**Next chapter should be up before the weekend.**

**Next Chapter: Time Jump. John and Sherlock return to Baker St….and find someone waiting for them…**

**Please Review!**


	7. Opposites

**Hello again.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Warnings: Plot twist?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>To say that that was the end of the close calls or the surprises would be a lie.<p>

A few days later, I was released from Mrs. Hudson's "medical facility" (it obviously wasn't your usual hospital) and was sent back home with Sherlock.

I wasn't quite sure if I should question the detective as to whether or not he knew of my secret…but I later sided against it. Sherlock can clam up to the point that no matter how hard I could possibly try, he won't give anything.

So I let it be, hoping that he didn't know.

Upon our arrival at Baker Street, I felt myself sigh in relief. I was safe here.

Well, safe is relative. Considering that my binding now didn't cover my entire body, I would have to be rather careful of having Sherlock touch me (not that he did regularly or anything like that), and make sure that measures were taken to ensure privacy.

Yeah. I'm desperate to keep this secret.

You would be too if your flatmate's brother is the government!

My relief only lasted for several minutes though.

When we entered the living space, two people were waiting for us.

Lestrade and Sarah.

Oh crap.

Lestrade stood up, a faint smile on his face. "Good to see that you are on your feet, John."

But my attention was on Sarah. I was supposed to visit her the night of the explosion…

I felt my skin crawl as I remembered my capture.

And something about the memory seemed to be missing…a crucial detail…

And Sarah was at the point of it.

How did Moriarty know that that I would be on my way to Sarah's…

I could hear Moriarty's laugh in my ear.

And the blood drained from my face.

I must have stumbled, because next thing I knew, Sherlock was supporting me. "John! What is it?" I heard Lestrade ask.

Blinking hard, trying to flee from the memories, I tried to focus on Sarah's face, searching for something, anything to tell me that I was wrong.

Wrong in thinking that Sarah had betrayed me.

There was nothing in her eyes to indicate that I was wrong. A faint, almost invisible, unapologetic smile tugged at her lips…

And a pit formed in the base of my stomach.

Why? Why would she do that?

My eyes begged her to say it wasn't true. I pulled away from Sherlock. "I'm alright." I lied, hoping that Sherlock would just leave it. "I need to speak to Sarah for a moment."

Lestrade's eyes flashed quickly between the two of us, and Sherlock stiffened at my side.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock whispered into my ear.

I nodded, pulling further away from Sherlock. "We'll only be a moment."

Sherlock nods. "Lestrade, I'll be willing to give you my statement; if we could step outside?"

I would later give him my gratitude, but for now, I focused on Sarah.

When the door closed, I finally spoke. "Why?"

Sarah began to laugh. "Took you long enough to figure out." She said, reaching up her hand to the crown of her head and pulling her hair…off…

_Dammit._

"Sebastian Moran," "She" said, fixing the stubby black hair that lined "her" head. "Jim's right hand man," he tossed the wig to the side in disgust. "Did you enjoy our little game? Was it a good run?"

I was utterly speechless.

How had I not seen that? Of course now it was obvious…but still!

I'm literally his exact opposite. Was in a "relationship" with him…and still didn't see that coming!

"Good thing Sherlock didn't oust me," Moran said. "He's very hard to fool, you know?"

"What do you want?" I growled out, my defenses high. I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been.

Moran shrugged. "You tell me. Your Sherlock's pet after all."

"And that would make you Moriarty's." I replied, venom seeping into my voice.

He covered his heart in mock thanks. "Oh. You noticed…" His face darkened. "Then what does that make me to you? If Jim is Sherlock's opposite…"

I growled. "Stop. Saying. His. Name." The sound of Sherlock's name on Moran's and even Moriarty's lips was enough to make me sick to my stomach.

Moran began to chuckle. "Avoiding the question, are we?" He took a step closer to me. I froze to the spot, refusing to give ground. "It makes me your opposite, John. You protect your…Sociopath. And I protect my precious Psychopath. No one gets to them…except through us."

My gut clenched tightly. I could practically hear what he was asking.

"So, it'll be a little game for us, eh, Watson. We keep our handlers from killing each other…by having ourselves in the way."

I glared at him darkly. "I. Will. End. You." I said firmly. "And Sherlock will destroy Moriarty."

Moran reached out and stroked my cheek. I flinched away from his touch as if he had burned me. Moran smiles, taking no offence to the gesture. "Then it shall be a duel to the death." His eyes light up sickly as he picks up his wig, readjusting it on his head, becoming "Sarah" once more. "Well, I best be off." He says, parroting Moriarty word for word, he leans and kisses me on the forehead, but barely, considering that I jump back quickly from his lips. "So nice to come out of the shell. Now I can stop pretending…at least to you…" He sneers. "Abschied, John Watson."*

"Catch you later."

Sebastian Moran smiled. "No you won't."

And then he's gone.

And just like at the pool, my legs give out from under me.

_So I'm not the only one in the world with a similar secret… _I think to myself as I fall to my knees. I cover my mouth with my hand, holding in a scream. I squeeze my eyes shut a strange terror filling me.

I had just made a deal with the devil's right hand man.

A deal that could easily end with Sherlock's death…if I failed him.

A gasp escaped my lips as I tried to stand, tried to get back up, to be act like everything was normal…

But it hurt too much to stand.

Sherlock barreled through the door only milliseconds after the gasp. His storm eye darting furiously around the flat, looking for the reason I was on the floor.

But he already knew…or at least thought he did. Considering "she" had just walked out.

Before I could even formulate words to explain myself (though they'd be a lie), Sherlock scooped me up in his arms and practically carried me to the couch. For a moment, I couldn't formulate words.

And then he was gone, dashing to the kitchen. I heard some banging about and a whistle before Sherlock reappeared, a cup of tea and a blanket in hand.

He sets the cuppa on the coffee table in front of me and gently (shockingly) drapes the blanket across my shoulders.

I looked up at him. His eyes are focused on me, a strange emotion flitting though his eyes. It takes me several moments to realize that he's…worried. I try smiling my thanks, for I really am grateful, but I'm pretty sure it looked like a grimace, because all it did was make him frown. I reached for my tea…only to nearly spill the hot liquid all over my hands.

Why were my hands shaking? I squeezed them tight, along with my eyes, willing myself not to cry.

I can't let Moran or his not so subtle threat on Sherlock's life get under my skin. I'm a soldier!

But a traitorous tear escapes…

And the dam opens…and I fall apart right there, on the couch, in front of Sherlock.

But the surprises didn't end.

I feel the couch shift as Sherlock sits beside me, and after a moment, I feel an awkward arm wrap around me.

Without thinking about it, I latch onto Sherlock, gripping his shirt hard in my hands and buried my head into his long neck…and just cried.

* * *

><p>I must have fallen asleep in the midst of crying, because I woke up later on the couch, tucked in with the blanket Sherlock had draped over me. I sit up carefully, my side protesting at the movement, and look around.<p>

_Where is Sherlock?_

Having my flatmate missing wasn't something new I had noticed since I moved in. Sometimes he would disappear for hours.

I ran a hand across my face, hoping that he wasn't off getting himself into trouble, and stood up. Food and a shower sounded like wonderful ideas…that is, if we had any food in the flat.

And, once again, the surprises continued.

The kitchen was stocked with food.

Now I really began to wonder if someone was impersonating my flatmate. Whoever had bought the food bought milk and beans…the exact things I had asked Sherlock to buy the night of the explosion.

After a quick meal, I headed for the shower. Locking the door firmly, I made the water very hot and even took off the new binding that Mrs. Hudson had given me.

I felt like every inch of me needed to be scrubbed.

Not just because of Moran, but because of Moriarty as well.

When I finished washing myself, dried and dressed, I made my way back to the living room.

Sherlock was waiting for me, his violin in hand.

He smiled up at me. "Feeling better?" He asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

We were silent for a long moment as I went to go and put some tea on.

"So you won't be seeing Sarah anymore?"

My hand stiffened at the sound of Moran's alias, but I replied calmly. "Yeah, it wasn't working out."

I heard a stray string plucked. "Didn't look that way to me when we went to the circus."

"Sherlock, that was the first date. You can never really tell what a person is like on the first date." I pause for a moment. "Well, unless they are you."

I could practically feel Sherlock's smile. "Still, I do not understand. The two of you were rather good together…you complimented each other very well."

For some reason, him saying that reminded me of our conversation shortly after Moriarty had killed the old woman, his hostage.

"_I hope you are very happy together."_

"_Excuse me, what?"_

Moran was right.

He and I were opposites…in every way.

Right down to us disguising ourselves as the other sex.

"This isn't the first woman to dump you."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A fact.

I nodded as I brought out the tea. "Yes." I handed him a cup and sat in my chair, facing him.

I could see confusion flash though his eyes, no doubt wondering why I had cried into his neck earlier.

But I couldn't tell him that.

Just like he couldn't tell me that he was meeting with Moriarty all those nights before.

"So…" I said, trying to get the conversation away from mine and "Sarah's" very dead relationship. "Any leads?"

"None at present," Sherlock said, strumming his violin. "I've been…tied up, for the last couple of days." His eyes avoid me.

A small smile tugs at my lips, but I hide it by drinking some of my tea.

"Most likely the trail is cold. Moriarty must have thousands of people working for him. It's the only way he could appear and then vanish so quickly. Lestrade will need your statement soon, but I've asked him to come by tomorrow for it.

I almost choke on my tea. This is becoming too much. Once was an oddity. Twice was a coincidence. Five times…well…

"Excuse me?" I said, frowning. "Did someone steal Sherlock away and replace him? Where is he?"

Sherlock looked up at me, confused. "I just thought that you'd appreciated it."

"I do, Sherlock. I really do, but what's wrong? It's not like you to be this…nice to _anyone_."

"Nothing's wrong," he said, quickly. Too quickly.

"Liar."

It's silent for a long while, us staring each other down.

And I knew I'd lose.

I look away first, looking into my cup of tea. "Mrs. Hudson told me that you didn't leave my side when I was unconscious." Sherlock froze, but didn't say a word. "I…Thank you, Sherlock…I appreciate all that you are trying to do. And it helps…but…can we just go back to the way things were? I'm not going to fall apart. I'm not glass. I…just want things to go back to the way they were."

I looked back up at Sherlock, unsure of what kind of response he'd give to my little speech.

He looked hard a me, with his storm colored eyes…and nods. "Alright."

And it did.

Everything, even the body parts and playing the violin at all hours, went back to normal.

And I couldn't have been happier.

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><p><strong>And there you go.<strong>

**Please Read and review.**

**Next Chapter: Someone can't keep a secret very well...**

**Edit: Sorry. The *. i ment to explain that. Since Moriarty's farewell to Sherlock was "Caio, Sherlock Holmes." I only thought it perfect that Moran do something similar. I chose German in memory of the first time Moran and John meet in the original Final Problem. Abschied directly translates to Farewell.**


	8. Bunkers and Bombs

**A/N: I apologize in advance. This is a rather short chapter. Filler or sorts I guess… anyway. Things will be picking up soon.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p>Sherlock and I easily stepped back into the routine at Baker Street. Less than a week after getting back home, we were practically begging Lestrade for a case.<p>

Thank God he saw sense and gave us one.

It was murder, obviously. Francis Marks: middle aged man, found bound to a chair, stabbed multiple times, his eyes gorged out. It was quite gruesome. At first all the evidence pointed to only one attacker—

"Oh!" Sherlock said, cutting himself off from an explanation of the facts and freezing the way he does when he comes to a realization.

"What is it, Sherlock?" I asked, wrapping my arms around me, cold seeping into my limbs making me uncomfortable.

"Look carefully, John. What do you see about the stab marks?"

Rubbing my cold hands together, I came closer and took a careful look, trying to see what Sherlock saw.

And there it was.

"They are all at different depths?" I frowned. "Isn't that possible with one attacker? Swinging a blade around isn't the eas—"

"NO! Look John! Really Look!" He was becoming exasperated with me. "Not only are they different depths do to the speed of swings, but notice how they never cross and are focused on either side of his body, never the center."

"So you are suggesting—" And it is at that very moment that my phone begins to ring. Any other time I would have answered it, but we are right in the middle of collecting data in order to put at minimum, two people in jail for murder. Whoever is calling can wait. I hit the end button without even looking at the caller ID. "That there are two murders?"

"Yes!" He sounded pleased that I finally got it. "Two women, judging by the swings. A man would cut deeper. Most likely close relations…probably a wife and the man's sister.

I feel a smile crawl on my face. "Fantastic," I said, my usual awe at my flat mate bubbling out, unable to remain inside.

Sherlock doesn't look at me, but I can see the tips of his ears turning pink…though most likely from the cold then him actually blushing. He turns to Lestrade. "I'll need names and addresses of any female relatives."

Lestrade nodded, handing Sherlock a file. "Knew you'd probably want it, saved you the trouble of hacking into my computer."

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, taking the folder. "You are learning, Lestrade."

The DI nodded and turned to me. "How are you feeling, John?"

"I'm doing fine, thank you." For some reason, hearing him ask that sent the hair on my arms on end. It made absolutely no sense.

"Perfect!" Sherlock interrupted Lestrade from saying any more and grabbed my wrist. "Come on, John! Time to go see a 'grieving' widow."

Never had I been so thankful to my flatmate for pulling me away from something.

I had no way of expecting who the widow would be.

* * *

><p>My eyebrows rose considerably high on my forehead at the sight of the woman who answered the door.<p>

_Clara. Harry's ex-lover…_

Her eyes were puffy and red, her dark hair hanging limply around her face.

"Mrs. Marks?" Sherlock asked, pretending to be on his "best behavior."

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"We're investigating your husband's death," I saw Clara stiffen and instantly felt my gut clench. _Harry is going to kill me._ "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I've already told the police all I have to say on the matter." She said, stiffly.

I wasn't sure if she was incriminating herself or not.

But Sherlock seemed too.

He was just about open up his mouth when, once again; my phone rang in my pocket.

"Excuse me." I said, stepping away from the door and pulling out my phone. A loud and frustrated sigh escaped my lips as I saw the caller ID. Pressing the answer button with more force than necessary, I practically growled into the phone. "What, Harry?"

"Tell you creepy flat mate to leave Clara alone." There was an audible growl in my sister's voice.

"It's a murder investigation, Harriet."

"Yeah. And He's not the police."

"I don't have time for this, Harriet."

"I don't care, Joan. Keep Holmes the bloody hell away."

I stiffened. "I told you to never call me that."

"Too late." I could hear the smirk in her voice. "Do as I say, Joan Watson. Keep Sherlock Holmes away from Clara, or else."

"Or else what?" I felt my gut tighten. "You have no power over me. You forfeited that when you became too bloody intoxicated to take care of yourself, let alone me."

"Clara had nothing to do with anything."

"Then why is her husband dead?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "…Look in the old bomb bunker in the back yard." With that, she hung up.

I was stunned and confused, pulling the phone away from my ear. "Sherlock…" My voice croaked.

Sherlock's eyes snapped away from Clara. "What is it, John?"

Rather than tell him, I walked around back of the house, finding the bunker just as Harry told me to. It was locked. Turning to Clara, who had followed us, I asked if she knew where the key was.

A shake of the head was all I needed.

Drawing my gun from my pocket, I kicked the door down, ready for anything…

Well, almost anything.

At the bottom of the stairs of the bunker were at least two dozen kids. All under the age of seven, barely clothed, half starved.

"Oh God no…" I whispered.

Sherlock was dialing his phone—a shocker, because he never calls someone—before I could even ask him. I slipped my gun into one of Sherlock's immense pockets and slowly, carefully approached the children.

"Don't be afraid," I said, my body language saying I am no threat. I hated to think what had happened to these poor children.

As if instinct kicked in, the boys stood to protect the girls. If it had been under different circumstances, I would have sighed at the sight.

I looked back at Clara for a moment, wondering if the children knew her. "I'm a friend of Ms. Clara's. My name is John. My tall friend and I have come to get you all out of here."

One of the girls, the tiniest, no older than three, braved to reply. "But—but, Mr. Marks doesn't like us to go with strangers."

The oldest boy quickly scooped her up and shushed her. "Do you want to get hit?" He whispered into her hair.

"Does he hit you?" I asked.

I got a few nods.

"Especially Lucy," the oldest boy said, holding the small girl close to him. "She's only three and doesn't know any better."

I nod, being sure to keep my rage in check. "My friend and I are friends of the police. We are here to help you."

"A-are you g-g-gonna take us away?" Lucy asked.

"Only if you want to," I replied. "Mr. Marks isn't…around anymore. He can't hurt you anymore."

Lucy looked at the boy holding her, then at the other kids in the room. They all appeared to be awaiting her command. She looked back at the oldest and gestured to be put down.

After a moment, the boy complied and she walked over to me, lifting her arms in a gesture of trust. I carefully lifted her, not wanting to hurt her. She rested her head on my shoulder.

"Take us away from here, please." She begged.

Who was I to refuse?

* * *

><p>Later on that evening, I escaped to my room and called Harry.<p>

"How did you know about the kids in the bunker?" I asked without introduction.

Once again, there was a long pause at the other end.

"You might want to ask Mrs. Hudson about that."

"Why? You aren't making any sense!"

"Because it is something I can't freely explain over an open line."

"And using that name isn't…" I growled.

"Look," Harry said. "I'm sorry for calling you that, ok. It was the only way to get the seriousness of the situation across."

"I'll be lucky if _he_ wasn't listening in on that. You know he does that right?" I continued, wanting to drive the point home. "I could be in jail right now, Harriet, on my way to the death chamber."

Harriet was silent on the other end.

I sighed. I hate upsetting my sister, even when it's necessary. "I know you still care a lot about Clara. Just…be careful what you say next time, alright?"

"Yes, John." She said very quietly.

"Thank you."

"I'm serious about talking to your land lady though."

"I know. I will."

"Ok. I got to go."

"Alright. Love you, Harry."

"Love you too."

And we hung up.

As I was heading down the stairs to the main room of 221B, intent on heading right down to Mrs. Hudson's room, I heard an explosion from the kitchen.

My heart began to pound in my chest as I dashed down the steps.

"SHERLOCK!" I yelled over the sound of the fire alarm, waving gray smoke out of my eyes.

"That…went exactly according to plan…" I heard Sherlock's voice reply a moment later as I walked quicker into the kitchen.

"What the Hell!" _Should have known…_ "Where did you get the explosives?" Within seconds I located him, getting into a sitting position next to the sink, a cut marring his face and glass surround him on the floor.

Glad that I was wearing shoes, I made my way over to my flatmate. "Anything hurt?" I asked.

He shook his head, but I was pretty sure he might have a couple dozen cuts at least. Regardless, I pulled him so he was standing and walked him out of the flat, knowing that Lestrade would be coming soon and the smoke would need to be cleared…

Good thing the windows were still blown out from the…present…_he_ left during the last case.

"What the hell were you doing?" I asked once we got outside, pulling out my handkerchief and pressing it to the gash on my flatmate's forehead.

"Testing the composition of…_his_ bombs."

_Again, should have guessed._ "And your findings?"

"I was able to trace the manufacturer."

I raised an eyebrow, attention focused on the cut, knowing I would need to get some ointment and a plaster on it soon. Fortunately it wasn't deep enough for stitches. Before I could ask for more details, a police car pulled up alongside us.

Lestrade practically ran out of it. "Bloody Hell, Sherlock! What happened?"

"He set off a bomb similar to…last time, in our kitchen." I replied quicker than my flatmate.

The DI ran a hand over his face. "Dammit Sherlock…Every one alright?"

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson came out of the flat, no worse for wear. "Sherlock, what have you done?"

My flatmate sighed. "It was an experiment, and yes everyone is fine."

I rolled my eyes, holding back a laugh.

Yep. Just another normal day at 221B Baker Street.

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><p><strong>Please Review! I really appreciate the feedback!<strong>

**Next chapter: Secrets spoken…**


	9. That Fateful Day

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers. I apologize for the delay. **

**Disclaimer: My name is not ACD, Steven Moffat or Mark Gratiss. I do not own Sherlock. I am not making any money off of this.**

**Warning: Scene of nudity. Nothing explicit. You have been warned.**

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><p>It took me a few days before I was able to talk to Mrs. Hudson about what Harry had said.<p>

I was still able to hold my job at the surgery for a few days…but things kept getting tense between me and "Sarah." After a few days, I sent in my resignation and never looked back, yet partially terrified of my opposite still being so close. Too close for comfort.

The next day, bored, tiered and unemployed, I decided to speak with her.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I called, knocking on the door to 221a.

After a moment, the door opened. Mrs. Hudson smiled up at me. "John! How are you, dear?"

I smiled politely. "I'm fine. I was wondering if I could ask you something. It's kind of important…"

Mrs. Hudson tilted her head to the side for a moment, then stepped aside to let me in. "Sure thing, dear. Should I put on some tea?"

"That'd be nice, thank you."

Once the tea was finished, the two of us sat on Mrs. Hudson's small couch. "So, what did you need to ask me, dear?"

"I spoke with Harry a few days ago," I said, taking a sip of my tea. "The day that Sherlock and I found those kids in Clara's husband's bomb bunker."

Mrs. Hudson didn't look fazed by this, so I continued.

"I asked her how she knew that those kids were down there. She told me to ask you."

My landlady nodded, taking a quiet sip of her tea. It was a long moment before she spoke. She leaned close to me. "How much do you trust me, Watson?"

It took me less than a second to respond. "You have given me no reason not to trust you."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, pleased with this answer. "Have you ever heard of the Underground?"

Before I could even process what happened, my mind shot back to when I was five.

"_Henry Watson, you are under arrest."_

"No—" My voice cracked for a moment. "No, I haven't."

"Then, let me tell you. There are a band of women working to free us from the severe bonds of man. Not all of them, mind you, mainly the social and economic bonds. A desire to do things like be lawyers, doctors…anything besides the jobs that degrade and make us worthless. We want to make a difference, to be something in this world."

I nodded my head. I am lucky that I am able to practice and be free.

"How did Harry know then?"

Martha smiles at me. "Why, she's one of us. She's the one who brought you to our attention. Saw the potential, the hope in sending you to the man's world." She leans in a whispers right into my ear. "How else could you have gotten the suit? How else do you think you were able to assume right into the role of a male in such a quick amount of time?"

I was at a loss for words.

Harry. My big sister. The one who got drunk nine times out of ten…was a spy of sorts?

And it slowly dawned on me that this made sense.

No one would assume that Harry was anything more than an alcoholic. Even me.

"Tell me all you can."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at me. "I thought you might say that."

* * *

><p>Days passed and nothing special really happened, of which I was thankful. It was a sign that Harry's slip most likely hadn't been heard.<p>

Mrs. Hudson, who I found was the leader of the Underground, told me all she could about the organization, who we hid from, who worked with us.

Surprisingly, there were a number of men that worked for the Underground.

And, one day, while getting ready for a shower, I wondered if Sherlock was one of them…

It was a day that I decided the binding was coming off for the shower. It was itchy and I needed to make sure that I wasn't getting chafed.

I locked the door firmly, stripped and climbed into the shower.

While scrubbing my scalp, I heard the bathroom door click open and froze.

_Dammit._

"Sherlock?"

"John! I need your help!"

"Sherlock! Bloody Hell! I'm in the show—" _Crap. The binding! _"Sherlock! Get out of here!" Without turning off the water, I reached out and attempted to snatch both my towel and the binding from the hook near the shower.

I only succeeded in grabbing the towel, the binding slipped out of my wet fingers.

"Hurry up, John!"

"I CAN'T IF YOU DON'T LEAVE, SHERLOCK!" I fierce blush was consuming my face, every muscle tensing, and the only thought running through my head is _I'm caught. I'm caught. Dammit, I've been caught._

He is silent for a moment. I know he hasn't left yet…

I can hear Sherlock shift, moving. "You might want to turn the water off if you want that towel to be dry."

Numbly I do as he says. The soap is all out of my hair anyway…and the towel is soaked.

"Pass me a dry towel." I demand. I'm in no mood to be polite.

After a moment a hand sticks through the shower curtain, a dry towel in it's grip. I snatch it quickly and wrap myself in it.

"You…" Sherlock said, hesitantly. "You may want this as well."

The same hand that passed me the towel passes me the flesh colored binding.

And ice flows in my veins.

Stiffly I take the binding.

Sherlock coughs as his hand retracts. "Come to the living room at your earliest convenience."

And the door closes with a click.

A terror I have never felt before fills my being.

I have no choice but to meet with Sherlock.

No choice.

My secret is out. He knows.

_What will he do to me?_

The unknown has never frightened me so much…

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry! Cliffhanger!**

**Please review. I'd like at least 5 reviews before I post the next chapter. Your reviews help me a lot! Thank you so much!**

**Next chapter: Confrontation...it's a double edged sword**

**~Nephy**


	10. Comfrontation

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

><p>My hands were shaking as I tightened the binding around my chest, my heart pounding and sweat covering my brow.<p>

I was scared.

Legitimately scared, borderline terrified.

I had not felt this way since I was 5.

And I just didn't like it at all.

I wanted to run away.

My reflection glared at me. _You should have seen this coming! You idiot! You never should have accepted his offer—_

"_SHUT UP!"_ I practically yelled at the girl/man in the mirror. "Just…shut up."

Because…even if this was the end of Sherlock and my partnership…it was worth it.

After a few moments, I was making my way down to the living room, my stomach in knots and my mouth dry.

Sherlock was playing his violin when I arrived. His eyes closed, his face focused, the bow urging notes from the strings.

It was kind of soothing…and I began to wonder why he was playing this particular song. It was one I wasn't unfamiliar with. It was one he played usually at 4 AM.

Maybe he was trying to calm me?

I refused to believe that.

I sat stiffly in one of the chairs waiting for him to be finished.

After a minute, the final note rang through the flat and Sherlock turned to me.

And for the first time since we met, Sherlock looked…nervous.

Well, his eyes did. The rest of his face was perfectly emotionless.

"You have never really been John." He said. It's a statement, not a question. Something he has already known.

I nodded anyway, my throat tightened.

"You know that it's an offence that is punishable by death."

Again, it's just a statement. Again I nod.

He put his violin down and sat in the chair across from me, hands folding into a pray position, fingers touching his lips.

"I can't do that."

My eyes widen. _What? What does he mean?_

"I can't let them take my blogger away."

It was like the breath had been knocked out of me.

"Wh…" I really didn't know what to say.

A faint smile touched Sherlock's lips. "Didn't see that coming?"

I was at a loss for words. "Why? You can be arrested for he—"

"I've been doing it for a while." He cut me off. "Mrs. Hudson wouldn't let a man who would turn her in as soon as he found out rent this room to begin with." He leaned in closer, whispering very close to me. "Plus, why would I turn you in if I am also part of the Underground?"

I froze, suddenly all the ice in my veins melting away. I had been right! It all made sense now. Sherlock's treatment of women, even Donovan who insulted and annoyed him on a regular basis, how much he cared about Mrs. Hudson, his despising his brother…

Even Mycroft wanting me to spy on him.

It all made sense.

I smiled. "Couldn't pull the wool over your eyes, eh?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You were very convincing for a long time. It did take me a few months to figure it out."

"How long have you known?"

"A couple of weeks, ever since the pool."

So, I had been able to convince him for a few months. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks. If I had been able to convince Sherlock, maybe Moriarty didn't know, and if I was really lucky, Moran too.

"So what are we going to do then?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Sherlock said, standing. "Lestrade called me earlier, I went to get you right after he called. He has a case for us." He smiles. "Coming?"

"Oh God, yes!"

* * *

><p>For several months, my secret was never mentioned again. And save for my upstairs rooms being off limits to Sherlock, nothing changed in 221B.<p>

More and more of Sherlock's attention was captivated by Moriarty, desperate to find out as much as he could on his nemesis, and progressively, he became more and more frustrated that the man could disappear and reappear at will.

At the peak of his frustrations, he threw his laptop across the room, slamming it into the wall, breaking it.

"Sherlock?" I said, cautiously stepping into the living room from the kitchen.

My flatmate was curled on the couch, his shoulders tense and a dark mood screaming off of him, filling the room like sick smelling smog.

I really hated seeing him so frustrated.

I approached with caution, and after a moment I was sitting on the coffee table that he usually walked over.

We remained in that position, him on the couch, back to me, me sitting on the table.

After a minute of staring at his shoulder blade, he finally turned to face me, the fabric of his robe pulling tightly around him. Our eyes meet, a storm brewing in his gray eyes.

"He's taunting me." Sherlock states simply. No name needed to be said. I knew who he was referring too. His name has practically become just what the cabbie told Sherlock: "A name everyone knows, but no one speaks."

It angers me that _he_ has such a negative, taunting effect on my flatmate. Ever since the pool, Sherlock has had more dark moods…and I fear for him sometimes.

Some days I wish that we had never even heard of Jim Moriarty.

"Has he been on your blog again?"

Sherlock nods slightly. "Mycroft hasn't found anything; Lestrade won't let us see the blasted scene." He sits up and roughly runs his hands through his hair, pulling at his curls. "And now 'anonymous' notes on my blog, taunting me because _he _got away…." A growl escaped his lips. He stands up quickly, knocking me over from my perch, barely missing his leg in the process. "We are going out."

I don't even bother stifling a sigh, more from being knocked over than from his demand. I was going to suggest getting out anyway. "Angelo's?"

Sherlock stalks to his room and a minute later, steps out dressed impeccably. (How he manages to do that, I will never know…) "Hurry, John." He says, tossing my coat out of the closet at me and shrugging his own onto his thin shoulders.

Within minutes, we are out of the flat and walking to Angelo's. The air was chilled, but I didn't mind. At least we were out of the flat.

Things at Angelo's were as usual. Billy gave us the table by the window, Angelo assumed (again) that we were together (I had long ago stopped attempting to deny it. Angelo would not be swayed.), I ordered food and Sherlock just watched me eat, eyes flicking every so often out the window, as if he was waiting for something.

I took notice of where he was looking, but did not ask, knowing that Sherlock would tell me what he was waiting for in his own good time.

After a while, a young man sat down on the step of 22 Northumberland Street… and Sherlock jumped up. "Stay here." He ordered. "I have some business to attend too."

I opened my mouth to question what was going on, but he shushed me quickly. "Not now, John. Stay here."

I wasn't sure why, but the last statement more sounded like "Stay safe."

I did as he asked, but my eyes followed him every step of the way, taking in his body language, the facial expression of the young man he approached, their lips, trying to read just what was being said.

It was difficult, considering that Sherlock's back was to me.

Alarm bells were ringing in my head. Something was wrong, very wrong about this whole thing.

After a moment, the new comer slipped something into Sherlock's hands. From the angle I was at, I couldn't tell what the object was exactly, but it looked like an envelope.

Whatever it was, Sherlock slipped it into his coat before I could catch more than a glimpse of it.

After another brief exchange of words, Sherlock turned back and walked back to Angelo's.

"Who was that?" I asked, as casually as possible, when he sat down.

"A man with information." Sherlock said cryptically.

I gave him a look, but when he didn't appear to want to give any more information, I looked back down at my food.

I didn't miss the way he bit his lip when he thought I wasn't looking.

Whatever was in that envelope, whatever that boy had said, was worrying my friend.

I was determined to find out what it was.

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><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much!**

**Next Chapter: …Kidnapped? Or something even more Bizzare?**


	11. This is an Interesting Perdicament

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers.**

**So this chapter is for my dear friend Allie! Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: Sherlock has OOC moments?**

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><p>I was not expecting what came next.<p>

After we visited the morgue and then the store to pick up some milk (finally), I was exhausted.

Collapsing on the couch, I was unwilling to even get up to go to my own bed, even as my shoulder protested weakly, my shoes still on my feet and my jacket and jumper still on.

Closing my eyes, I fell into a blissful sleep.

The next morning, the sunlight from the windows streamed in, warming my face, coaxing me to awaken.

When I opened my eyes, I found a set of storm gray ones…to close to my face.

I jumped up, nearly head butting Sherlock.

"Good morning, John." Sherlock said a smile on his face.

"Morning," I replied, my voice hoarse from sleep. I lifted a hand to rub my face…

And Sherlock's hand rose with it.

My eyes widened as they locked on the silver bracelets surrounding both our wrists, my right and his left.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

"Yes, this is an interesting predicament." He said, standing, pulling me roughly up with him.

I stumbled, falling into him. "Dammit, Sherlock."

"Oh." Sherlock said, looking at me with the same look he gives me when he figures out he said or did something wrong. "Problem?"

"Yes, Sherlock!" I pushed myself off of him, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with my other hand. "We are bloody _handcuffed_ together! How the Hell did that happen?"

"I did it."

I stared at him, opened mouth in astonishment.

"It's an experiment."

I wanted to punch him.

Never in the nine months that I have lived with him have I _ever_ wanted to punch him as badly as I did then.

I tightened my hands into fists, trying to keep myself calm. I should have expected something like this, at least, an experiment being performed on me.

"And for what reason, exactly," I continued, voice tightly in control, but just barely. "Does this experiment involve you and I being handcuffed together?"

Sherlock didn't respond.

After a long moment, I looked up at him.

He looked so…unsure about himself.

And I was beginning to wonder what sign I had missed. What scrap of data that would explain to me why he was doing this that he had left…_oh…_

…Right on the table for me…

The letter, opened and crinkled, rested in Sherlock's other hand. I couldn't read the script from this angle, but I could see a signature.

_-M_

"What did he say?" I asked, all my anger directed at Sherlock shifting, and a knot forming in my gut telling me that I was not going to like where this was going. Not at all.

"Nothing you need to know, John."

I glared at him, using the look that had become infamous in the military.

But Sherlock refused to give.

After several long moments, I gave up. "Alright," I sighed. "So are we just waiting?"

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Lestrade should have something for us."

At that very moment, Sherlock's phone rang. In response, his left hand dived into his jacket pocket, pulling my hand roughly with it.

"Sherlock!"

As an apology, Sherlock switched hands and put the phone to his ear. "Sherlock Holmes." A frown formed between his eyebrows. "Where?" A pause. "We'll be right over."

And with that, Sherlock pulled me out of the flat, a strange tension line forming between his brows.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until we arrived at the scene that I realized why Sherlock was acting strange.<p>

From a distance, the scene looked like any other crime scene that Sherlock and I had been to in the last nine months.

But when you got closer…

I looked at my flatmate. "Is this why you cuffed us together?"

Sherlock didn't respond.

Well not verbally at least.

His hand snaked around mine, holding a tight grip around my fingers. A grip that was painful, but necessary. He was confirming for himself that I was still there. That I wasn't leaving.

That I wasn't the body on the ground that looked just like me.

A cat call drew our attention away from the body…or at least _my _attention. And Lestrade's as well.

Donovan was smirking beside Anderson as we walked under the police tape, both of whom were giving a "knowing" look.

I shot both of them down; I was not in the mood for any of their bullying today. I fixed my infamous "Major Watson" glare on them; the one that was rumored throughout the ranks could terrify even the most hardened terrorist should that gaze befall them.

I was satisfied to see both Anderson and his…pet…pale.

But the damage was already done.

Thank God that Lestrade had sense to see the cuffs, rather than just our hands.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock lied before Lestrade could ask. I didn't correct the Consulting Detective. "What do we have?"

Only details came afterwards. That's all I let in. All I could let in.

Male, mid-thirties, short blonde hair, not quite military cut though, wearing a jumper and comfortable clothing.e w

But it was his heart.

It was not in his chest.

The remains were.

All ashes.

_Moriarty._

It's obvious that the game has begun again.

So why does my gut churn at the thought….

The thought that…

That…

We may not survive this round.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Sherlock does when we get back to the flat is have both of us look for hidden cameras or booby traps.<p>

We searched all three flats: ours, Mrs. Hudson's and the empty one downstairs.

Nothing.

The one thing we did find.

The pink phone…with a message on it.

_Hi sexy,_

_Did you like my little present? _

_I'm bored. A little birdie told me that you're bored too. Wanna play?_

_New game. New rules. My rules._

_Ready to play?_

_Kisses.-M_

Sherlock's grip on the phone was tight. His head turned sharply to me, storm eyes meeting mine.

My jaw was tight. After the first game, I was tired of having Moriarty pull the strings. The dance that Sherlock and I performed last time left 14 known people dead.

But I knew that Sherlock was the only one who had a chance of stopping the psychopath.

And regardless of the fact that we were cuffed together, I had to watch my sociopath's back.

Because I knew Moran would be waiting for me.

I nodded.

Sherlock and I walked over to my computer. He opened up his blog and typed four words.

_The Game is on._

The moment he submitted it, the pink phone rang.

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><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much!**

**Next Chapter: The Second Deadliest Game**


	12. A New Game

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers. I apologize for the delay. I had every intention of getting this up Saturday. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: possible gun inaccuracies (Forgive me, I've never shot a gun in my life), threats and Moriarty...**

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><p>Sherlock looked at his phone, then to me. In one smooth motion, he answered it on speaker. "Hello."<p>

"Why, hello again, Sexy. You miss me?"

I frowned deeply. It was Moriarty's voice. I guessed that this game didn't involve "throwing voices." Wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing...

"What game this time, Jim," Sherlock replied, his voice void and no nonsense. "You've already played Chess and treasure hunt. What's next?"

Moriarty chuckled. "But, my dear, it's so fun having a bit of _mystery_ involved."

"Then what are the rules I must follow?"

I kept quiet, hearing the edge of frustration in Sherlock's voice.

"I like our games."

Sherlock frowned. "What?"

"I like our games." Moriarty repeated. I could practically hear the smile in his voice. "I have a fondness for explosions. Molly likes them too."

"The last one," Sherlock replied quickly, piecing together the rules faster than I could figure it out.

"Are you absolutely sure?" The grin was widening. I could hear it. "Why don't you ask her yourself…"

He hung up.

And Sherlock was on the move, dragging me behind him.

"John, call Lestrade. Tell him to bring a bomb squad."

I do as he asks, but it's difficult. Fortunately, after the pool, I had decided to put Lestrade on speed dial. Just in case.

Good thing I did.

"John?" Lestrade's voice rang in my ear.

"Yes, it's me. We need a bomb squad to Bart's as fast as you can."

"Wait! What?"

"Moriarty. He's back."

"We'll be there when you get there."

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Lestrade made good on his word. By the time Sherlock and I arrived, Lestrade was helping evacuate the hospital….and stopped us before we could get in.<p>

"Lestrade, let us pass." Sherlock practically growled.

"Not without the two of you in at least vests. I don't want to have to dig your dead bodies out."

Sherlock was surprisingly quick to accept this condition. Within minutes the two of us were dashing into the building with a bomb squad, looking for Molly.

She was in the coffee room, like she usually is. Sitting in the corner, tears streaming down her surprisingly calm features. Maybe she had resigned herself to dying…maybe Jim had convinced her that she would die.

I gripped Sherlock's hand tight.

"Molly," Sherlock said to the girl, his voice soft and kind.

Her head rose carefully, the vest hanging heavily around her shoulders. The moment her eyes met Sherlock's, the calm broke. "Sherlock," She squeaked out. "Jim…He…he…"

Sherlock bit his lip, and I took over, taking that as a sign that he didn't know what would be the best thing to say and he didn't want to upset her more.

"It's ok, Molly. We are here to get you out of here." I gesture to the bomb squad to wait before approaching. "Did he tell you that only a certain person could take that off you?"

"Yes." She said, her voice shaking, "You, John. Sherlock or anyone else can't touch it or me while it is still on."

Well, that certainly complicated things.

Sherlock and I looked at each other. I lifted hands and pulled the sleeve of my jacket and the cuff as far down on my arm as I possibly could. Then we approached Molly, the cuff painfully in sight. Molly's eyes widened, but she didn't say a word.

I studied the bomb, looking at the wires and remembering how Sherlock had torn a very similar vest from my chest not too long ago.

I reached for the latch of the front, Sherlock keeping his hand as far from Molly as possible. My fingers diligently worked the latch and soon had it undone. Then with a caution that Sherlock had lacked when he striped me of the bomb, I pulled one side off of Molly's shoulder and then the other.

In a matter of minutes, Molly was free of the bomb and the bomb squad had taken care of the bomb. No one was hurt. Everyone was safe.

Well, "safe" being a relative term.

Moriarty was still out there. Still playing a deadly game if round one was evidence of that.

As soon as Sherlock and I were about to hail a cab, the phone rang.

"Excellent." Moriarty chuckled through the speaker. "I didn't expect you to leash your pet to you, Sherlock."

Sherlock's fingers snaked around my mine once more. I squeezed them slightly, letting him know that I didn't mind.

"How long can he stay tethered to your side?"

Neither of us had an answer.

"Round one completed. What's next?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh! You ready to play! Yay!" he said with mock glee. "Johnny boy, ready to play? Cus your buddy Sebby has some questions for you!"

Ice ran through my veins. _Moran._ He's in this too, should have guessed.

"Yes. I'm ready."

Just then my phone rang. "Hello, Moran." I growled into the receiver then quickly put it on speaker.

"So cold, Watson," the man said on the other end. "Did you know I was a soldier too? Best crack shot in the ranks. Rivaled only by one. Or was it two?"

I froze, thinking back to my carrier. I could practically see the "Scoreboard" (a grotesque game that the snipers had come up with, but that's what keep most of us sane at the time) in my head.

The top person always changed between three people: Me, Moran (how I didn't see the connection before, I'll never know, though Sherlock would just call me an idiot) and a third man…

And Moran was always either before or behind me.

"It was two, a majority of the time."

"Wanna test it?" I could practically hear Moran grin. "I know where to find the captain."

My grip tightened around the phone. "When and where?"

"Two hours…and where else, Watson?"

My gut tightened at the thought. "I'll be there."

"Good. And bring that Browning L9A1 your flatmate likes to sling around."

And with that, he hung up, and we were off.

* * *

><p>The range.<p>

Obvious.

Where else would someone choose to shoot of guns without drawing attention?

Especially with military guns.

With the Browning in my pocket and Sherlock griping my hand unusually tight, we walked out onto the range…

And a set of shots rang out nearby.

I whipped out my gun with my left hand, spinning around to face where the shots rung out.

I knew instantly that both of them had hit their intended target.

Moran was grinning at me, not five feet from where Sherlock and I stood, his "Sarah" disguise completely removed. Instinct moved me to stand in front of Sherlock. One man had already been shot. I wasn't going to have Sherlock be the next victim.

"Careful with that, Major," My dark opposite said, chuckling and taking a step forward, a similar gun in his hands, but pointed downwards. "Someone could get hurt."

"Captain already has, Colonel."

Moran looked down at the man he shot twice in the leg. "He'll live…if you can best me."

I refused to swallow, my grip around Sherlock's hand tightening.

"I see you only have use of your left hand. Pity, I heard your right hand was your trigger hand. Maybe you won't save the Captain after al—"

I fired a warning shot in front of his foot, not three centimeters from his big toe. "Just tell me the Damn game. Stop beating around the bush."

Moran laughed. "Oh, Major," he said with mock affection, crossing those five feet to come face to face with me. "So eager to play the game, are we?" He reached out a hand and ran his fingers down my cheek.

I shoved the barrel of the gun into his stomach and turned the safety off. "You know, I have made up my mind to shoot you right now. Who will guard your 'precious psychopath' then?"

Moran's eyes narrowed and he backed off. "Your target," he said simply, gesturing towards my left.

I turned to look, and saw before me roughly 50 feet away, three targets. And my breath hitched.

Three very convincing dummies stared back at me.

_Harry, Sherlock, and Sarah…_

"The rules: shoot the one you wish you had never met….while blocking my shot."

I looked back at him, he was leveling his Browning for a shot.

Suddenly, everything was in slow motion. My brain running at the speed of light, calculating the seconds, and angles.

_He's aiming for Sarah. But at the angle I stand, my shot will hit Sherlock's dummy._

But now I knew what game we were playing.

_Two truths and a lie…_

This was my lie…or the truth if I timed it correctly.

Squeezing Sherlock's hand, my gun went up. Simultaiously, Moran and I fired; his once, mine twice.

I could see it all happen.

My second bullet struck Moran's, sending both of them flying over the Sherlock dummy, missing it's shoulder by mere centimeters.

My first bullet was imbedded in "Sarah's" head.

My truth, my bullet.

My warning.

_Keep this up, Moran, and I will kill you._

Moran's eyes narrowed at me. _Not if I kill you first._

Then he was gone.

* * *

><p>As Captain Storm, the only man who could best me and Moran (on and off, depending on the week), was loaded into the ambulance, the pink phone rang.<p>

"I think Mycroft has some questions for you…" Moriarty said simply.

Just as quickly as he had called, the mad man hung up. Sherlock slowly put his phone away.

And a black car pulled up right beside us. "Anthea" stepped out of the vehicle.

My gut clenched when she called for us, her blackberry curiously not in her hand.

How Moriarty managed to get to Mycroft, I'll never know…

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><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much!**

**Another cliffy (I know. I keep doing this! Sorry. They will stop soon! Promise!)**

**Next Chapter: Mycroft discovers something…And his brother will pay for it…**


	13. Truth and Overture

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: Awkwardness and… LONG CHAPTER! (YESH! FINALLY!)**

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><p>Anthea was antsy the entire ride to wherever we were going. Her hands, the ones that every time before had held her blackberry, furiously typing away, couldn't stay still and her eyes kept shifting out the window at periodical intervals.<p>

I just wanted her to explain what was going on.

But the moment we had climbed into the vehicle she explained that she couldn't.

And that worried me.

Sherlock was still and straight backed the entire way there. Eyes focused somewhere in front of him, but far, far away. The steady grip he had on my fingers was the only acknowledgment I had that he knew I was there.

It was the silence that would have drove me mad.

Fortunately, the ride was short.

The building we arrived at was nothing special. A small apartment, very similar to 221B, but in a busier section of London.

A frown formed in Sherlock's brow. _So, he recognizes this place._

Anthea lead us inside, which was much larger than the outside made it appear. We found ourselves in a large greeting hall (or that was the only thing I could really compare the room too.)

Up on a stage on the opposite side of the room, sat Mycroft, and like Anthea, his umbrella, his constant companion, was missing.

Sherlock eyed his brother carefully and I looked around the room, searching for Moran who would most definitely be hiding in the shadows.

Mycroft looked to his assistant and nodded.

As acknolegment, Anthea turned sharply on her heal and fled, leaving me with the two Holmes brothers and possibly Moran and Moriarty in the shadows.

I hoped she was going to get help.

But if Moriarty had the British government under his thumb…who could help?

"Mummy would be disappointed." Sherlock stated flatly.

"A fact I am well aware of, brother."

There was silence for a moment.

"This was not how it was suppose to be."

Sherlock and I stiffened, wondering what he meant.

"Anthea, Mrs. Hudson, all of the women of Britain…they were never suppose to be like this. Trapped."

Sherlock and I took several cautious steps forward.

"I was a fool for not seeing this before." Mycroft continued eyes focused on his brother.

"Explain. Give me data."

"He weaseled his way in, Sherlock. Even you could have seen that. Moriarty has been at the center of it all for decades. Jim is just the figurehead. His father was the one that started all this."

_His father…_

"He was the one who had John's father arrested. The one that put Mummy away for treason, married Mrs. Hudson to that horrible man…everything, Sherlock. He's been in control this whole time and we never noticed."

Ice was running in my veins now.

"Can you stop this, Sherlock?" Mycorft asked, his voice thick, though I wasn't sure if it was with regret or that he was sacred of asking this favor of his brother. "Can you fix the mistake that I missed?"

Sherlock looked furious, he turned his eyes to me and just stared for a long moment. Then, before I could even formulate words, he looked away and bellowed. "Moriarty! Come out!"

Jim Moriarty walked out of the shadows to Sherlock's right. "No need to shout, love." He grinned. "Do you have an answer for 'Crofty?"

Sherlock growled a sound that I had heard too much this day. "I told you I will stop you. That was before." He stalked up to Moriarty, coming nose to nose with the psychopath. "Mummy never deserved that. Mrs. Hudson, the kindest woman I know, never deserved the slavery that you and your father locked her in." His eyes darkened. "I will destroy you, James Moriarty. I will rip all that you and your father made and crush it in my fist."

The psychopath had the gall to laugh. "Isn't it better this way, Locky? Never a whine, never a nag…" His eyes roamed to me. "…Never being best by a lower creature."

The ice that flowed through my veins stilled. I'm pretty sure my heart stopped.

Moriarty's sick grin widened. "Didn't see that coming didja, Johnny boy…or should I say Joanny?"

Yes. My heart most definitely stopped.

_How did he…?_

My eyes widened as a memory flashed through my mind.

"_Do as I say, Joan Watson..."_

_Harry…_

Someone had been listening.

But it hadn't been Mycroft.

It had been Moriarty.

I locked my eyes on Mycroft. The man looked at me, his eyes sad.

It was him….not a threat from Moriarty that had made Sherlock handcuff the two of us together.

Mycroft had known…and was protecting me.

"You leave John out of this." Sherlock said, standing between Moriarty and I.

"Oh Sherlock, so protective of your pet... Joan made her own choice, dear. She's been in this game from the beginning, ever since she decided to become John." He smiled. "And you know how this game will ultimately end…"

_I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you._

But that couldn't be right. Joan wasn't Sherlock's heart. John was.

And John didn't really exi—

Sherlock's hand tightened around mine, as if he had read my mind. I looked up to see his head shake slightly in a negative.

My mind blanked.

…_really?_

"Our game has always been between you and me, Jim. Joan and Seb are just accessories. How bout we settle this score? Just you and me."

A smile widened on Moriarty's face. If the devil had a smile, it was the one Moriarty wore now. "I thought you'd never ask…" He looked around. "Well, I best be off. Gotta prepare some things… You'll be hearing from me soon, Locky…"

"Catch you later." Sherlock replied as Moriary walked out.

And as soon as he was gone, just like at the poor, everything sped back up.

Sherlock dragged me over to Mycroft and began speaking to his brother in a language I had never heard before. It was desperate and forlorn. Something I had never heard from Sherlock ever in all the time we had spent together.

Actually, I'm pretty sure that only Sherlock and Mycroft will ever know.

While Sherlock spoke, Mycroft straightened and there was an attention in his eyes that I had not seen in pervious conversations between the two brothers. When Sherlock finished speaking, Mycroft rose and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. He nodded and rested his forehead on Sherlock's, replying in soft tones in the same language.

At that moment, Anthea reappeared. "He's gone, sir."

"I know, Anthea." Mycroft said, his voice sounding stiffer than usual…and sad…

I wouldn't understand why until the next time Sherlock and Moriarty met…

* * *

><p>I didn't ask Sherlock what he and his brother had spoken about. It was none of my business after all. He would have spoken in English if it had been meant for my ear to hear and understand.<p>

I was exhausted when Sherlock and I finally dragged ourselves into 221B. Sherlock had looked ready to pace the length of the flat several times over, but I just wanted to rest.

I dragged my flatmate to the couch and sat, pulling him down with me.

I got only a glare in retribution, but he didn't get up.

Our fingers wove together like they had quite a bit today…it had almost become second nature.

And I was surprisingly ok with this.

We just sat there. For how long, I'll never know, just so weary from the events of the day…

I wasn't even sure when I rested my head on Sherlock's shoulder, but I didn't care.

This seemed so…right.

And I couldn't fathom why.

"Joan…" Sherlock said, just as my eyes were closing, waking me from my almost doze.

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you decide to become John?"

I kept my head on his shoulder for a moment, thinking through my answer, before lifting it to look Sherlock in the eyes.

"When I was 5 years old, my parents were taken by the corrections police. At the time I didn't know why and I was scared. Harry took me in, but she couldn't do much for me because of the economic options… so I decided to become John so I could help support us. Later I found out that Mrs. Hudson had been helping her since day one."

Sherlock nodded, his storm eyes studying me and holding a question that he's lips refused to ask.

But I could read it as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud.

"Sherlock," I began, swallowing thickly. "Regardless if I'm John or Joan, I don't mind being your flatmate. Hell, I enjoy it. I love bustling around with you on cases and don't mind the body parts in the fridge or random other kitchen appliances. I'm not leaving just because you know I'm a girl or my real name. It was going to come out eventually."

I smiled as the tension sagged out of my flatmate's shoulders.

"But I do have one request," I said after a moment.

The tension was almost instantly back.

"That you take theses bloody handcuffs off so we can make some dinner."

Sherlock chuckled, then sighed. "But food is dull."

My stomach growled in response.

Both of us laughed, a comfortable laugh that released all the tension from the day from us, forcing it to leave the flat.

It was a good laugh. A happy one.

When our laughter died down to chuckles and then just to smiles, we found ourselves staring at each other…

For reasons I couldn't explain, my stomach began to do back flips.

Sherlock coughed awkwardly and pulled out the key from his jacket pocket. With a flick of the wrist, we were free of the cuffs.

I stood, rubbing my wrist carefully. "I…I'm gonna go take a shower real quick." I said, wondering why my voice had decided not to cooperate. "Do you mind putting on some tea?"

Sherlock nodded. "Milk in yours?"

I smiled. "Please."

He stood and I fled.

* * *

><p>I spent maybe fifteen minutes in the shower with just the hot water pounding on my shoulders, trying to get my racing heart to slow down and my stomach to stop doing somersaults.<p>

Never before had this happened.

Never before had this happened when Sherlock would just _look_ at me.

The mere thought of my flatmate and all we had been through…

It was enough to make my body do weird things.

_Why?_

When the water decided it was no longer going to run hot, I got out of the shower and slipped into my binding, my favorite striped jumper and a pair of slacks. I needed as much physical comfort as possible. Especially after the day I'd had…

It wasn't until I got out of the bathroom that I wondered if I should be worried if the kitchen burned down.

But instead…

I found the table set…

Food on the table…

And Sherlock sitting there, waiting for me.

He had changed too, out of the outfit he had worn earlier, his coat gone, replaced by the purple shirt he wore while figuring out what killed Carl Powers and a pair of very nice slacks.

His eyes looked very far away, and his face was taught.

"Hey," I said softly, coming to stand beside him. "I thought I just asked you to make tea?"

"You did," Sherlock said, snapping out of whatever thoughts possessed him. "But you were taking so long that I took the liberty of making dinner for you."

"For us," I corrected out of reflex. "You need to eat at least a little something."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Eating is boring."

I quirked an eyebrow at that. "Don't make me get the funnel."

We stared at each other for a long moment…before our serious faces crumbled and be both burst out laughing.

Like the funnel would ever work!

I sat down across from Sherlock and began to serve the food. It was a light dinner, pasta, but I didn't mind. It was better than nothing. Sherlock scoffed when I put a small serving on his plate.

"Just 10 pieces, Sherlock," I said, sounding exactly like Harry when I had been 5.

Sherlock poked one of the pieces with his fork, glared at it, then at me, and put it into his mouth.

He ate 10 pieces exactly...and stole a few from my plate, just to be annoying.

After I had finished, Sherlock once again surprised me by helping with the dishes.

"You don't have to, Sherlock. You mad—"

"Just…let me, Joan."

I couldn't refuse him.

After all the dishes were put away, I made both of us a cuppa and we sat on the couch just like a few hours before.

A comfortable silence descended, until Sherlock jumped up and turned on the radio. I was confused at such a move, but at least the sounds of the music floating from the speakers.

After several songs of just sitting in each other's company in comfortable silence, a familiar song wafted through the room. It was American…but a rather good song…

As the piano began the overture, Sherlock stood and held out a shy hand to me.

I looked up at him, startled, and wondered what the hell was going on. Honestly, the dinner was weird enough…

But was he honestly asking me to dance?

_Me?_

After a moment, my hand rests in his and he pulls me up and into a (strangely clean) area of the apartment. We face each other, my right hand in his left, standing awkwardly for a moment, waiting for someone to move.

Sherlock moves first, braver than I, taking a step towards me and placing his right arm around my waist.

Instinctively, my left hand went to his shoulder.

We swayed for a long while. I listened to the music, trying to block out the awkwardness of the situation.

After pretending to be a guy for so long…being asked to dance, not as a guy, but as a woman was…weird.

And my stomach wasn't helping matters.

Nor was the song for that matter.

_And when I'm with you  
>So close to feeling alive…<em>

Sherlock and I don't speak…

And for that matter, don't look at each other.

The entire scenario is just so…awkward.

_A life goes by,  
>Romantic dreams must die<br>So I bid mine goodbye and never knew  
><em>_So close was waiting, waiting here with you  
><em>_All that I want is to hold you  
>So close<em>

Sherlock's chest began to thrum under my fingertips and he began to waltz me around the room. I cautiously followed his lead…hoping that I wouldn't accidentally step on his feet!

What? I'm a klutz.

_So close to reaching that famous happy ending  
>Almost believing this one's not pretend<br>And now you're beside me and look how far we've come  
>So far, we are, so close <em>

I started feeling some pressure on my shoulder blade…and soon realized that Sherlock and I were alarmingly close. My nose was touching his shoulder. After only a few more steps, my head was resting on said shoulder.

_How could I face the faceless days  
>If I should lose you now? <em>

This line startled me for a moment, or maybe it was the amount of pressure Sherlock was applying to my hand and back, his head resting on mine.

What would I do if I were to lose Sherlock...?

It was something I didn't want to think about.

_We're so close  
>To reaching that famous happy ending<br>Almost believing this one's not pretend  
>Let's go on dreaming for we know we are<br>So close _

The song was winding down.

Sherlock slowly spun me around.

_So close  
>And still so far<em>

As the song came to a close, Sherlock pulled away and then lowered me into a shallow dip.

While the station changed songs, we just stood like that for several long moments…

All too soon, Sherlock brought me up from the dip.

"You're tired." He said, matter-of-factly.

I nodded a yawn escaping.

He lead me to the stairs that led up to my room and said goodnight.

As I stepped into my room he called out my name. I turned to look.

"Tomorrow, everything goes back to normal."

I smiled at him.

"I'd like that."

And with that, I closed the door behind me.

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><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**Next Chapter: I'm going to make myself cry…**


	14. Story and Raffles

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers. I screwed up. It is not this chapter in which you will cry.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Long(ish) chapter! **

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><p>I was quite relieved when things, once again, regained a level of equilibrium.<p>

Sure, there was still craziness. But it wouldn't be 221B Baker Street (or London for that matter) without it.

Soon, maybe too soon, the threat Moriarty and Moran had left for us faded into the back of my mind as chasing after Sherlock through the streets of London took priority.

How many times did I save that man's life?

A lot… to many to count...

* * *

><p>I wasn't unfamiliar with Sherlock disappearing for days. When he would go on long distance cases, usually minor ones that were generally quick to solve, I wouldn't see him for a couple of days.<p>

But him disappearing for over a month…

That was enough to send warning bells going off in my mind.

I had sent several text messages to my flatmate over that month span, usually once every week, asking how he was doing and if he needed my help.

It wasn't until the 28th day that I heard back from him.

_Will be home tonight. Wait up for me? –SH_

I was surprised by the question.

_Of course. Is everything ok? –JW_

I wasn't sure if I should have expected a text in return. So the buzz of my phone that alerted me to a new text made me practically dive for it.

_I'll explain when I get home. Keep away from the windows and for God's sake SHUT THEM! –SH_

My heart started thudding a bit more violently, a million worries flying through my head. I did as he asked, locking the windows and closing the curtains.

Then I did the best thing I could; make a cuppa and wait.

At exactly 10:49 pm, Sherlock staggered into the flat.

I jumped up, relief pulsing through my veins…

That quickly froze into ice when I saw the look on his face.

Sherlock looked tired and haggard, a notable slump in my friend's shoulders and purple bruising caused by lack of sleep under his tired, stormy eyes.

"Sher-" I breathed, letting loose a breath I felt like I had been holding for hours.

"You followed my instruction," Sherlock said, abruptly cutting me off. "Good."

And then he promptly collapsed to the floor.

"SHERLOCK!" I practically screeched, as I dashed to his fallen form. Once at his side, I, by reflex, checked to make sure that he was conscious (which he was not), that he still had a pulse (thank God!), and that he was still breathing (again, Thank God!).

It took all my military training to get the man off the floor and onto the couch.

After doing that, I pulled off his scarf, coat, and shoes, looking for physical injuries as I did so.

One of his ankles was swollen, but besides that, there was no evidence of any trauma.

I got a bag of ice for the swelling, elevated said ankle with the ice and then looked back at my flatmate's sleeping face.

_He's so…_

I cut myself off from that train of thought, shaking my head and a small smile crawled onto my face as I braved to brush back his dark curls from his face affectionately. "Tucker yourself out, dear Sherlock?" I whispered. "I've told you that sleep is not dull. You push yourself way to hard."

Sherlock leaned into my hand, sending bursts of warmth down my arm, but he did not awaken.

Which was a good thing, considering he looked like he needed it, questions would have to wait.

Moving the coffee table to the side, I pulled over a chair, propped up my feet and slept by my flatmate's side.

* * *

><p>Sherlock slept for roughly 24 hours before awakening.<p>

I was putting a fresh ice pack on his ankle (which was recovering quickly) when his storm colored eyes opened.

And, not for the first time, my stomach decided it was going to do hardcore gymnastics when his eyes settled on me.

"Hey…" I said, my voice sounding oddly breathy.

He tried to sit up and I shoved him back down, giving him a look. He glared right back, but I didn't care.

"You have a sprained ankle, collapsed, and slept for 24 hours straight. You aren't getting up until you tell me what happened."

The glare withered, and after shifting a bit under my hands, Sherlock looked back up at me and spoke of the interesting predicament that he had found himself in.

"I've been doing reconnaissance." He began his eyes going far away as he recounted. "There have been several sightings of Moriarty's work and he's been leaving clues in his wake. I followed them for the last several weeks, discovering just how deep of an organization Moriarty's crime syndicate really is…and I assume it goes deeper…" A secret smile pulled at his lips. "His 'underlings' are particularly intelligent…well save for a few that I was able to easily pass by in so little disguise that you could have spotted me from a mile away."

I almost giggled at that and let him up.

"How have things been in my absence?" He asked as he sat up, slowly.

"Quite."

"Good."

A rather strange silence descended on the two of us. A kind of silence I had grown uncomfortably accustomed to between Sherlock and me.

It didn't help that during these strange silent moments, Sherlock would stare at me.

Just stare.

Not say anything or even move for several moments, unless I started moving around the flat.

I picked up the bag of ice off of his ankle, observing the swelling and attempting to block out Sherlock's gaze. "You are healing real—"

I was cut off by Sherlock's hand.

Turning to look at him, my stomach again twisted and my cheeks felt warmer than usual.

Sherlock's eyes were bright and very close to me, observing, deducing…whatever the hell he was doing.

And it was hypnotizing.

The strange thing was…I wasn't sure which part of me was hypnotized more by the gaze: John or Joan.

Maybe both.

_But who is he attempting to deduce?_ The demon in the back of my mind asked.

The part of me that is Joan was distressed by this.

John is the part of me that Sherlock clearly adores. The one he always turns to, the one that he lives with.

Joan is baggage. The little me inside who decided she was going to be a boy because the society I live in refuses to let her be the woman she wants to be.

_He'll never care about the real me..._

But…he asked me to dance…

_But was he asking Joan or John… _

_He never did say…_

Then again, over the last few months prior to his absence, he hadn't called me by either name…

I tried to read what was going on behind his storm eyes…trying to see who he was deducing…which seemed to be getting closer and closer every moment…

There. In his pupils, I could see a face.

Short blonde hair, dark eyes, squared jaw, ears that stuck out just a bit from the sides of the head…

…_me…_

No name. Just me.

He was deducing the person that is me. A combination of John and Joan…the real me…

And I could see an emotion that lay in his eyes…

An emotion that I had only seen once this close…one I had been accustomed to seeing my father give my mother in the time before they died.

Pure adoration… captivation…And something else…something so deep, I was drowning just looking at it…

Something that made me jerk away from him, startling both of us.

My heart was racing as my mind tried to figure out just what happened.

"I-" my voice cracked. "I'm gonna go put this in the freezer." I took the icepack and practically ran to the kitchen.

_What the hell was that? _

_Was it?_

_No! It can't possibly!_

_He's a sociopath…_

_Maybe I miss read…_

_Yeah. I'm not nearly as good at deduction as he is…_

_Yeah. Whatever that was…_

_It couldn't possibly be…_

_Love…_

* * *

><p>A few days later, Sherlock was up on his feet, his sprain healed and he was eager to get out of the flat.<p>

"Come on!" He said, tossing my jacket at me. "We're going for a walk."

The abruptness of the order (not request) startled me so much that I readily did so, pulling my jacket on and following my flatmate out of 221B.

We walked side by side down the street in, what I could tell, was heading towards nowhere in particular.

Which might have been a good thing…had my leg decided to act up, once again.

_Damn my leg…_

We were in the park when it happened; the same park that I had run into Mike all those months ago, the day that changed my life irreversibly forever.

And by some godly intervention, Sherlock took notice and led us to a bench.

The silent act of kindness was unusual but not unwelcomed.

My eyes watched the trees. It was fall and all the leaves were turning different shades of orange and red. More red then orange…but it was beautiful none the less.

"This was where you met him." Sherlock said abruptly.

I turned to look at him. "What?"

"This is where you met with Mike Stanford the day we met."

I chuckled a bit. "Yes. This bench exactly." I replied.

Sherlock continued to look at me, his eyes deducing. After a moment, he leaned close and whispered into my ear, "Why did you decide to become John?"

I had to stop myself from turning my head too abruptly. "I don't think this—"

"This is the safest place you can tell me. The flat is bugged, recently while I was gone, and we are far beyond Mycroft's cameras."

I was startled but did not ask how he knew the flat was bugged.

_Should have expected something like that…_

"It's not a very interesting story, Sherlock."

He scoffed a bit. "You rank yourself very low in my opinion, dear Watson. You fascinate me." He chuckled. "Why else would I keep you around so long?"

Finally, I turned to look at him, cocking an eyebrow at him. After a moment I sighed and looked away, knowing he wasn't going to give up until I told him. "I was five," I said, my voice hushed. This was my greatest secret, something I was entrusting to only Sherlock. "It was just a normal day. When suddenly there was a loud banging on the front door. My father scooped me up in his arms and dashed for the upstairs. He put me into a closet and told me not to come out until either him, my mom, or Harry came to get me.

"Now, I couldn't hear everything, but they were very loud, the Corrections' police that came for my parents. Harry was out of the house at the time." I swallowed. "I heard my parents' arrest…well if arrest is a proper term for what happened that day.

"A few hours later, Harry found me in the upstairs closet, she was close to tears. I knew at that moment that Mother and Father weren't coming back…" I choked on my words for a moment, and then quickly regained my composer. "She walked me down the stairs to the door…but I saw something in the other room…and dashed ahead before she could stop me…"

I couldn't continue. My voice wouldn't cooperate.

"Your parents were there, weren't they?"

I nodded, swallowing past a lump in my throat. "They were shot… and as a five year old I thought that I could help. That they were only sleeping. Father had taught me some beginner medicine so I went to go and get the med kit…but it was too late. I couldn't do a thing…"

I saw Sherlock's hand twitch, but he made no move to touch me. His attention was fixed on my face.

My left hand began to shake. I clenched it into a fist and looked at my hands. "I wasn't stupid. I knew that women couldn't be doctors. But I knew that was where I needed to be. I needed to help people…not just because I couldn't save my parents, but because it had this feeling inside…that's just what I needed to do. So I became John. John is a way that I could accomplish what I needed to. Sure, it's been a rough road. But—"

Sherlock's hand on my arm stopped me. I looked up at him.

He was tense. I knew he was still listening, but something else had caught his attention.

"Dammit," he muttered. "We picked up a tail."

"Who?" I whispered harshly, the previous emotions from telling my story shoved to the back of my mind.

"Your 'buddy Seb'."

"Son of a—" I replied, cutting myself off. "Plan to lose him?"

"Best way we know how." Sherlock said, a gleam in his eyes, standing. "Ready for a nice jog through London?"

I pulled myself to my feet behind him. "Oh God, yes."

And we took off.

* * *

><p>Unlike the first time we dashed through the streets of London, we didn't head back to 221B.<p>

Instead, we stayed to the populated areas for several long hours.

Even more shocking: Sherlock took me shopping.

Mainly went shopping to pick up some milk.

On the way out of the grocery store, heading back in the direction of 221B, we passed a pet shop.

Usually I walk past the place indifferently, but that day… something was drawing me to look in the window.

And found a black labradoodle staring back at me.

I stopped and stared at the puppy. I was intrigued by the look he gave me. He tilted his head to the side, as if wondering what I was. One of its ears lifted comically.

I chuckled, not even registering that Sherlock had stopped.

The puppy's tail wagged at my chuckle.

And it was then that I noticed that the puppy was all by himself.

All the other puppies in the window were paired, though some had three in the same compartment.

But not this puppy, he was all alone, had been left alone.

Pity rose in me and I looked up at my flatmate.

He cocked his head to the side, subconsciously like the puppy in the window. "I don't recall Mrs. Hudson saying anything about no dogs in the flat…"

I smiled brightly up at him. "Really!"

Sherlock shrugged. "Why not?"

Within an hour, we had purchased the pup, named him Raffles (Sherlock's input to which the puppy had responded remarkably quickly), and were bringing him home to meet Mrs. Hudson and get use to the flat.

It wasn't until much later that it would even cross my mind that Sherlock was giving me Raffles not only as a farewell gift…and something to help me keep living…

* * *

><p>About a week after bringing Raffles home, Lestrade showed up at our door step.<p>

"It came?" Sherlock asked the Detective Inspector before the older man could say anything.

Lestrade nodded, not even bothering to ask how Sherlock knew, pulling an envelope from his jacket and handing it to the Sherlock.

Raffles who had been sleeping on my feet lifted his head at the arrival of the other man and yipped at him.

Lestrade looked confused for a moment, then knelt down by the pup and held out a hand for him to sniff. The pup did so, and quickly lost interest, lowering his head to the floor and going back to sleep.

Lestrade stood stiffly and smiled at me. "John," He said in greeting with a nod.

I returned the gesture.

The sound of ripping paper drew our attention.

Sherlock was ripping a letter that was in the envelope to shreds.

"Game on." He said, his entire persona darkening.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**As to Raffles name, it comes from "Raffles Holmes and Company," a non-cannon collection of short stories from 1906 by Kendrick Bangs. He was supposedly the son of Sherlock Holmes. *shrug* I thought it was a cool name and would fit a labradoodle puppy that acts a bit like Sherlock.**

**Raffles will have a bigger role in the next couple of chapters.**

**Next Chapter: …the part of Sherlock's tale that every Sherlockian dreads…**


	15. Reichenbach Falls

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: Tissues may be wanted…**

* * *

><p>After a week of chasing more and more clues, a picture began to clear in Sherlock's mind. He was sparked with a brighter fire with every cell we exposed, Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard hot on our tail.<p>

The strange things we saw in those cells, everything from Scientists to prostitutes and then some.

The vastness of Moriarty's network in England alone was startling.

I couldn't even imagine this network around the world.

It would take _years_ to expose it all…

* * *

><p>Forgive me. I am entering a part in my tale that distresses me. My memories of that time are jumpy and pieces are missing.<p>

Bear with me as I re-tell the day I lost Sherlock…

* * *

><p>It was a chilly September day, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary.<p>

Sherlock took me to breakfast at Angelo's after catching the final sleeper cell that Moriarty lead us too, when the pink phone, which we received most of our clues, rang.

This was unusual considering that we had received all of our clues in text messages…

Sherlock answered it without hesitation.

"Hello."

"_Hello, darling. Ready to go on a special trip?"_

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Always, Jim. Where and when?"

"_I always liked the name Reichenbach…"_

I was utterly confused.

But Sherlock seemed to get it, his smile shrinking.

"_Let's make it a truly remarkable meeting."_

"What of your shadow?"

"_Sebby is a bit…detained at the moment." _Something in Moriarty's voice tightened my stomach. Moran was still on the loose…he wasn't one of the ones we found among the sleeper cells.

"What time?"

"_When the sun is nearing the horizon."_

"I'll be there. Be sure to bring answers."

"_But Locky, why, when having questions unanswered is so much fun!"_

And with that, the mad man hung up.

"I'm coming with you." I said, no argument prevailing in the gaze I gave my flatmate, my best friend. I wasn't going to simply let him walk into Moriarty's "final round" (as that is what it sounded like) without me and my gun to back him up. Not with the possibility of Moran being there, "being detained" be damned.

Sherlock's smile completely faded from his eyes. "Of course," He said plainly. "I'd be lost without my blogger."

* * *

><p>It was nearing sunset. Sherlock decided to kill time by returning to the flat to get something (an object he refused to show me) and then took me to the park we had gone to not too long before.<p>

We sat on the bench, waiting for sunset. Sherlock turned to me after a long moment, his mouth opening to speak and then snapping shut inaudibly.

Confused, I looked at him. "What is it?"

"I…" He stopped, collecting his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. "I'm really glad Mike introduced us that day."

I felt a smile slink onto my face. "I am too, Sherlock." I reached out and hand and grasped his. "I don't know where I'd be if he hadn't."

Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable, but his hand tightened around mine.

We didn't speak for a long time after that. Just sat there, hand in hand, enjoying each other's company. I closed my eyes, inhaling the cool air.

"Fall is coming, should be here in a few days, hopefully a few weeks."

"I hate the fall." Sherlock said abruptly.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Why?"

"It's inconvenient for my work. Leaves everywhere, blocking the way, disrupting evidence. It's utterly annoying."

I chuckled a bit, I should have known.

"What season do you like then?"

"Winter and Spring aren't bad."

"Winter? But didn't you just say…"

"Winter is different. Winter helps preserve the evidence. With the temperature drop, blood congeals faster and stays in place, bodies remain preserved and evidence remains clearer, making my work easier. It has a beauty that way."

"Oh." I said, my smile returning.

We did not speak again until the daylight was fading.

Sherlock stood. "Come, it's time to go see Moriarty."

* * *

><p>Sherlock lead me to an abandoned warehouse, one very similar to the one Mycroft brought me too all those months before.<p>

But before we can even go in, my phone rings.

It's Clara.

Sherlock gestures for me to answer it, waiting for me.

"Hello."

"JOHN! Come quick!" Clara's voice blared in my ear.

"Clara? What is it?"

Clara sounded like she was in tears. "H-h-harry! She collapsed!"

"Are both of you in a safe place?"

"Yes."

"Good. Hang up and call 999. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Clara sniffed. "Ok."

"Bye."

"Bye." She hung up.

When I looked up to nod to Sherlock, I found myself looking down the barrel of the gun.

_Oh…for the love of…_

"Hello again, Moran." I growled.

"Watson, you should have gone to your dear sister's side."

_Son of a…_

"I can't let you interfere. If I'm not allowed to interfere, you can't either."

I frowned. "What?"

"Oh don't be daft. You know how this is going to end."

My eyes widened as it all clicked in my mind. I looked up, drawing my gun.

Sherlock and Moriarty were in clear view, standing at the edge of the building's roof.

"SH—"

A hand clamps around my mouth.

I fight back, my eyes trying to stay on Sherlock.

Moran and I match each other perfectly. It's impossible to overcome him.

Until I see it.

Moriarty and Sherlock.

Falling from the sky…

…heading straight for the pavement.

"SHERLOCK!"

* * *

><p>For the days after the Fall, all I can remember are fragments.<p>

I don't know who held me back…but I wasn't allowed to see him.

I'm a bloody doctor and. They. Wouldn't. Let. Me. See. _HIM!_

I was in the waiting room of the hospital. Pacing.

Then Mycroft comes out. He's the only one they would let in to see _him_.

The moment I saw his face, my world fell apart.

_No. No! NO!_

He pulled me aside and whispered. "They've done all they can…he's gone." There are tears in Mycroft's eyes.

I can't believe it.

I really just can't.

He presses a phone, _his _phone, Sh- _that _phone, into my hands.

There is an unsent message on the screen.

_Dear John, _(It began)

_Jim has allowed me a moment to type this all out. It's too large to send and I can only hope that it will reach you in a reasonable time frame. This is such a strange way to end this game between Jim and I, though my brother will no doubt comment that we do love the flare for the dramatic. He has explained to me just how he and his father were able to sneak into the government and turn the fate of women on it's head. It's so bizzare and confirms the opinion I have had of him ever since we met at the pool. I am glad, regardless of the cost of my carrier, to rid the world of Moriarty. Tell Lestrade that there is an email waiting for him with my complete record of my dealings with Jim. Mycroft is already working to reverse the damage that has been done by Jim and his father before him._

My knees buckled as I read the next part, small as it was.

_Dearest Joan, don't hide anymore. The demon that chased after you is gone. Live and believe me, to be forever yours._

_Sherlock Holmes_

I collapsed to the ground, my leg screaming in a pain I had not felt in months, and a painful sobs tearing through my entire being.

He was gone.

_He was gone…because he saved me!_

How could I live with that?

S—_He._ The most brilliant, beautiful, most awe striking man I know, dead; because of me.

Me.

A broken nobody.

Just a field doctor with nothing to lose.

Except for him.

A girl pretending to be something she's not…

Except for _him_…

Because, for _him,_ I didn't have to pretend. Because he knew.

The next thing I remember, I was at Mycroft's house. He refused to leave me by myself.

He did grant me one request.

That I could keep _his_ coat.

I slept that night, and every night after that, wrapped in the only thing I had left of _him_…

And wishing that my freedom hadn't cost the man that I…

That I…

The cost was _His _life.

How do you live with something like that?

I will never know. I barely lived after that...

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><p><strong>AN: *sobing***

**Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**Next Chapter: Raffles, Donovan, and a random stranger **


	16. Open Up Your Eyes

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: Puppy cuteness, Donovan being a dirt bag.**

* * *

><p><em>I think I slept for a few days straight after <em>the fall,_ as it has become permanently termed in my head._

_Actually, I'm pretty sure Mycroft put me into a chemical induced coma._

_Probably for good reason._

_I was a crack shot with nothing to lose, after all…_

* * *

><p>The next conscious memory I have is the funeral.<p>

It was a beautiful service. Close casket. (Mycroft told me that _he_ looked really bad. The older Holmes insisted that _he _be remembered as the man before hitting the pavement, then how he looked now. I respected that wish, though I could not help but want to _see him_ one last time…)

Everyone was dressed up for _him._ Mycroft, Lestrade, Anthea (who's blackberry was nowhere in sight), Mrs. Hudson, Harry (who turned out to be just fine. She had collapsed from exhaustion, nothing too serious), a weepy Clara, Molly…and Donnovan and Anderson came too (if I had been in better shape, I would have been surprised.)

For the first time in years, I wore a dress. The binding forever gone and I was a woman once more…because earlier that day, before even getting ready for the funeral, the judge of the highest court overturned the laws that suppressed all women and their rights. It was Freedom.

_I was free._

It had taken two months to reach the highest court and no one dared stop the team that was Mycroft and Lestrade. They were brilliant in uncovering both of the Moriartys dealings. They were an oncoming storm that no one saw coming.

And on the First of November, two months after _the fall_, the thing that _He_ had died to see complete was finished.

_He could rest in peace now._

And I could be Joan Watson once more.

The readings at the funeral were about New Life and Hope, two things I desperately wanted to believe in. Especially for _him._

I desperately wanted to believe that _he_ was in a better place.

Beyond this veil of tears, in a place where _he _will never be bored again, a place where _he_ could be...happy.

Mycroft gave a speech about his brother. I cannot for the life of me remember what he said, but I knew that it was kind and good and purely Holmes…

And then he called me up to give a few words…

I don't remember anything I said. It was like I blacked out.

I didn't shed a tear at the funeral, but held my inconsolable landlady, the only woman _he _and I ever had that came close to being a mother, as the service came to a close.

At the burial site, the trees were sheding their leaves.

"_I hate Fall…"_

I would have chuckled at the irony.

Before they lay the casket in the ground, family and friends paid homage by putting roses on the casket to be buried with _him_.

Mycroft went first. "Say hello to Mummy, Sherlock," He said as he placed the rose on the casket. His face was blank, but his eyes were obviously distressed. Anthea walked to his side and placed a hand on his arm. The older Holmes patted her hand and squeezed it.

It was only then that I realized that the rings they both wore on their right ring fingers matched. They were a matching set.

_How did I miss that?_

"_Because you're an idiot…"_

Mrs. Hudson was next, her tear-filled eyes gazing lovingly at the casket. "Sherlock, dear, take care of yourself out there on the other side, ok? I'm not your housekeeper anymore, you'll have to housekeep for yourself." She blinked hard, tears falling from her lashes. "And thank you," She said in a whisper. She kissed the rose before setting it on the wood.

Lestrade gestured for me to go before him. Out of all of Scotland Yard, he had taken my revelation the best, continuing to be a father like figure he had always been for _him _and me. He actually hadn't been surprised.

I slowly approached the casket, limping as I did so. I had left my cane back at the flat. _He_ did hate when I had to use the blasted thing.

It didn't mean that it wasn't painful to walk.

"Hey," I said when I was right next to the casket, feeling utterly ridiculous and out of place in my own skin. The wind was pulling at the fabric of my dress and my hair, still short but I was growing it out. "Um…" I really had no words. My gaze flicked to Mycroft and Lestrade. Both of them gave me looks urging me to say something. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, imagining _his_ face before me. Suddenly, words were flowing from my lips and I opened my eyes. "You once told me that heroes don't exist, and that if they did you wouldn't be one of them." I looked down at the rose in my hands and spun it around in my fingers. "Then you go off and…do this, exactly like all those heroes in those stories we're told as kids." I swallowed thickly. "I'll never understand why…maybe because I'm an idiot."

I chuckled weakly at that, the chuckle becoming a sob.

"But…you were my hero. Always have. Was it not obvious? Even when you disappointed and frustrated me…you still were. You…You saved me. Not just as John, but more importantly as Joan…" My eyes blurred and I looked up at the sky. "You really are, forever and always a true hero in my book, Sh—" My voice choked at his name, I couldn't speak it. I laid the flower down, a golden leaf falling on top of it. "I miss you, you idiot. R…Rest in peace."

And with that, I moved to let Lestrade pay his respects, wiping rebellious tears from my cheeks.

* * *

><p><em>Time is a fickle thing. Some days it flows mercifully by, other times it drags.<em>

It was one of those dragging days that I realized just why _he _gave me Raffles.

Mycroft had pulled a few strings and gotten me a job at Bart's where Molly still worked, but as a nurse and not just as a coffee girl. Working with her made some days easier, seeing her shining, unfailingly smiling face.

But one day, roughly three months after _the fall_, it wasn't enough.

There were so many patients to see.

Not enough doctors.

And what was worse? My leg decided to collapse on me in the middle of the shift…

And in front of Donovan, who had come in to request my help on a case. And who, since becoming a police officer, had become a thorn in my side.

_Dear God, please have mercy…_

Donovan thought this was the funniest thing as Molly scrambled to find my cane. I yelled, my military voice coming to the forefront, shutting Donovan and Molly up.

"Damn my leg! I'll get up by my damn self."

And I did, holding tightly to a nearby table when I was finally up right.

"Yes, Donovan. You need me." It wasn't a question. I knew she needed me.

The now police officer huffed a bit, and business proceeded as usual.

I later apologized to Molly when Donovan left and took my cane from her.

"I-It's ok, Joan. I know it hurts you."

I patted the girl's arm appreciatively.

By the time I got back to the flat, I was so exhausted it was hard to turn the key to let me in.

Raffles jumped up at me when I came in through the main door, yipping and excited to see me.

Usually I'd be happy to see him too…but that day I couldn't be.

"Down!" I ordered and the pup did as he was told.

He whined as I limped over to the coat hooks, tilting his head to the side as if asking why I was limping.

"My leg hurts." I said in reply, knowing I most likely wouldn't be able to walk up those steps to 221B.

Raffles lifted one of his ears, reminding me of the day we got him…and of _him…_ and then took off up the stairs, his long pre-pubescent legs carrying him quickly up the steps.

I looked at the stairwell like it was a journey through hell…when Raffles bounded back down the stairs, with a bright orange blanket behind him.

He tripped over his feet near the end of the stairs, but when he recovered, looked up at me, blanket in his teeth, his puppy smile noticeable and his eyes bright, practically screaming "This'll help, right?"

I chuckled, biting my lip and petting him on the head, taking the blanket from his mouth and putting it around my shoulders. "How do I look?" I said, a weak smile tugging at my lips.

Raffles' tail wagged furiously, nodding his head and licking his face.

"I'll take that as a good. Ready to go upstairs?"

Raffles' tail stopped wagging and his ears flattened. This was obviously not what he had expected me to do. Doing what appeared to be an eye roll he grabbed the blanket and pulled me towards Mrs. Hudson's room. _"No, Mum, you idiot. You are sleeping down here if I have to drug you…"_

Sure, I'm not sure if _he _would have done something like that.

But Raffles was a mix. He was me and he was _him._ A son we never had.

_He_ was looking after me, even from the grave.

* * *

><p>Three months after Raffles and the blanket, Lestrade called and asked if I wanted to go out for drinks with him and some of the Yarders.<p>

I would have turned him down if Raffles hadn't been staring at me, his dark blue eyes telling me _"You need to get out of the house, Mum."_

I really didn't want to accept the offer. Sure, I knew that Lestrade was trying to get me out of the house, considering that, outside of work, I practically locked myself in 221B.

"Sure." I said. "Where and when?"

About a half hour later I arrived. The bar was a modest establishment, and the Yarders were happy to see me. Some of them even raising a glass to me as I came in.

Lestrade gestured for me to come join him at the bar…Dimmock, Anderson and Donovan sitting around him.

I don't have any problem with Lestrade, and Dimmock is a good guy.

But Anderson and Donovan…I still have issues that need to be worked out with those two.

I sat down there anyway, and ordered water. Alcoholism runs in my family after all. Sure, it's been 6 months…but yeah… still don't want to go down that road.

After some pleasantries, Donovan set her scotch glass down and turned to me. "Why'd he have to go and do that?"

"Who?" I asked, nursing my water.

"Freak."

I stiffened, already ever muscle in my body telling me to flee.

"Go and fall off a bloody building like that," Sally continued.

"Donovan…" Lestrade said in warning.

"What? It needs to be asked! It's been six bloody months! Don't tell me you aren't at least a tad bit confused!"

"It was the only way to stop Moriarty." I said before Greg could fire back a response, giving the DI a look that made his mouth snap shut.

"But falling off a building?"

I shrugged. To be honest, it did distress me that that had been the method by which Jim and _he_ had agreed to "end it". "They did love the flare for the dramatic." I said, practically quoting word for word Mycroft.

After a long moment, Sally continued. "I'm glad he's dead."

My left hand began to shake. I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. I heard Greg open his mouth to change the subject. I beat him too it.

"Why?"

"Because now we can do our jobs without the bloody Freak hovering over us and telling us we are idiots."

It was only the second time she had called _him_ that word and I was barely keeping myself in check. It hurt to hear _him_ still be called that, even though he was dead.

"He solved every case he was called on for," Dimmock cut in, God bless him. "He prevented repetitive crimes, Sally, and did it just because he wanted to."

"And insulted us at every turn," Anderson piped up, taking Sally's side, like always.

"Oh sod off. To him we were idiots! Do you know what is IQ was?" Dimmock countered. "The fact that he even considered he—"

"I don't care! You sound like an academy girl with a crush! Can't you see his flaws?" Sally shot back.

"…He's dead, Sally," Dimmock deadpanned. "He's no threat to you."

During the entire exchange, I was silent.

Sally had no response for Dimmock, so she turned on me. "What say you, Joan? You lived with the Freak. Is the world better off?"

Lestrade growled, setting a fatherly hand on my good shoulder. I'm pretty sure she was now regretting inviting me (or Sally) to drinks.

"Sh—" Even after six months, I still can't say his name. "He was a good man. Sure, he drove us all crazy , but he really was. He tried and that makes him the best man I have ever met."

Sally nursed another scotch, not looking at me. "Be realistic, Joan. Honestly, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were infatuated with the Freak. In a few years, that feeling will fade and you'll settle down, find a husband maybe, and look back on these days and wonder 'Who was that Holmes guy? Why did I stay with him so long?'"

I stiffened, every muscle screaming now. Every cell in my body screaming _No! NO! NEVER! I will NEVER regret it!_

"Wh—" My voice cracked for a moment. "Why do you say that?

"Because someone else will ultimately come along and sweep you off your feet. Bloody Holmes didn't care about you. He was a psych—"

I had had enough. I couldn't take this anymore. I stood up from my bar stool, my leg buckling for a moment. I straightened and resolutely walked towards the rest room, letting John take over.

_Don't you lose it. Don't you lose it. Don't you DARE lose it, Joan Watson._

Faintly I could hear Sally say "What?"

I closed the door behind me, leaning heavily against it, my leg screaming in pain.

"_It's psychosomatic…"_

And I left my cane back at the flat. Great.

I hobbled over to one of the sinks and splashed cold water on my face. Over the rush of the water, I could hear Greg speaking.

"…say something like that! Can't you see she's still grieving!"

"I'm just telling her the truth, Greg."

"He's been dead six months. SIX MONTHS!"

"I'm not gonna take back what I said."

"Fine. Don't. Just listen. Sherlock Holmes is dead. I don't care what issue you had with him and apparently still have with him. Joan Watson wasn't just John, the flatmate, to Sherlock. She was the first real friend he _ever_ had! She made more progress in knowing him and making him a better man in the She made more progress in knowing him and making him a better man in the two years she knew him then in the five year prior to that that _I _tried to! Maybe you never noticed because you had your head up your arse, but he adored her. He _Loved_ her. And she loves him…"

I didn't hear anymore of what Gregory Lestrade said…

Because I was sobbing.

He was right.

_He_ had changed. I had seen it. In the two years I'd known him, he'd gone from being an uncaring Sociopath to a tentative human being. He had become more and more human…particularly after the pool.

And I did love him.

Sure, I'd never admit it to myself when he was alive.

Mainly because I wasn't sure who really loved him.

John obviously adored him.

Joan was the one who loved him.

…_He loved me…_

That thought alone brought a fresh wave of tears…

Broken only by my phone ringing.

It was Mycroft.

"There's a car outside," The older Holmes said when I picked up. "I'm taking you home."

I didn't even bother to ask how he knew where I was or what had happened. (I later discovered that Greg had texted him in the midst of his fight with Donovan. Apparently, Greg and Mycroft were good friends and, like a big brother and a Father, were looking out for me.) All I cared about was getting out of there.

After putting my phone back in my pocket, I straightened up, supporting myself on the counter, my leg still deciding to not cooperate.

I hobbled out of the restroom and as I did so, Greg stopped yelling at Sally, who just glared at her boss.

Greg turned to look at me, his features softening from all out furry to an apology.

Before I could say anything to him, Anthea walked through the door, her blackberry dangling from her fingers. She beckoned for me and I hobbled over, attempting to keep my dignity.

I wasn't going to let my blasted leg give way under Anderson and Donovan's gazes.

But once I got into Mycroft's car and saw the older Holmes…

I lost it all over again.

I was done with being strong! The pressure of _his _absence crushing me.

I…I just…

I don't even know.

To this day, I don't know what I wanted at that time, torn between wanting _him_ back and wanting _him _to remain in peace.

So I cried into Mycroft's jacket, wanting to be selfish, but kicking myself for wanting it so badly.

* * *

><p>I was thankful that the next day, my boss gave me the day off.<p>

I needed it.

I needed a day to recover.

So I took Raffles to the park.

One thing about Raffles, he was surprisingly easy to train, I only had to keep a leash on him because I was required to in this park.

My leg, still tormenting me from the day before, ordered me to sit. So I did, Raffles curling up on my feet in his usual manner, understanding that his "mum" needed a rest.

I remained there for a long while. My eyes closed, inhaling the soothing smells of spring, the churping of the birds—

"Excuse me," A voice with a Scottish accent said, making my eyes snap open. "Is there room on this bench?"

My eyes locked on a rather tall red haired man, gray hairs appearing at his temples. He was most likely a few years older than me. His face was squared and full, his eyes covered by sunglasses and a golden Labrador, looking to be the same age as Raffles, in a harness at his side.

A blind man.

"Sure," I said, moving over a bit. "Have a seat, I was going to lea—"

"Oh, don't let me chase you away, dear." The man said. "My guide here, Mary, loves leading me up to people."

The golden Lab wagged her tail at the comment.

"Oh. Alright. I guess Raffles and I could stay for a moment."

At the sound of his name, Raffles looked up at the newcomers and lifted an ear, tilting his head curiously.

I patted his head as the red haired man sat down beside me.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" The man began.

I looked at him then up at the sky, seeing several blue birds fly together into the distance. "Yes, yes it is."

"I've always loved the Spring."

I felt myself pause, the statement sounding very similar to something _he_ had said not six months before.

"Really?" I said, fighting to make my voice not sound choked.

"Yes," The man continued, a smile coming to his face. "Everything smells so much better. The birds sing. Everything seems so…happy."

I looked around, trying to "see" what he "saw."

And he was right. Things did look happier.

Children playing on the swings of the small playground not too far away, couples walking arm in arm. One pairs stopped in front of a bed of daisies and the man plucked on for his companion. She chuckled as he put it in her hair.

It brought a tentative smile to my lips. "You're right. Things do look a lot happier."

"Why are you not happy?"

The question was so startling that I was taken off guard. I had only just met this man. Didn't even know his name, and he was asking me if I was Happy.

"What do you mean?"

"Your voice is a bit croaked, but you do not sniffle like someone with a cold or clear your throat like someone with a sore throat." He turned to look at me. "So I'm assuming that you have been crying. Why, if you don't mind me asking?"

It sounded perfectly logical. A blind man would be more adept to picking up changes in voices.

"I…" At first I didn't want to say anything on the matter and brush it off, but…I really needed to get it off of my chest…

Sure, I could tell Lestrade or even Mrs. Hudson.

But I felt so…comfortable with this complete stranger that my mind said "Screw it all," and words began to flow out of my mouth.

"A few months ago…I lost a dear friend of mine."

The man's face remained compassionate, his hand moving to Mary's head smoothing her ears. Raffles stood and rubbed his nose on my leg. I petted him, his soft fur calming me.

"You both were very close?"

"Yes. He was the best friend I ever had." A chuckle came to my lips. "Annoyed me sometimes, what with all his strange experiments that he left around the flat and dragging me all over the city, but was the best man I ever knew."

"He sounds like a good man."

"He was." I said, admiration at the mere thought of _him_ flooding me. "He was the best. I will never find another like him."

"Why did he leave you alone then?"

My fingers embedded themselves in Raffles fur, but the pup didn't whine in pain, so I guess they weren't too rough. "He…He died. A…a madman killed him." I was barely in control, my voice tight and tears filling my eyes.

A hand rested on my arm, startling me. I looked up, looking the blind man in the face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to distress you."

"No, it's alright." I replied, wiping the tears from my eyes with my left hand. "I needed to talk it out."

The man smiled, sadly. "I hope you find peace."

The statement alone brought another tear to flow down my cheek, just one.

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Um…Sure." I said.

"Open up your eyes. See the things that are in your daily life. See the world without the sorrow, because there is joy and peace all around you. It's waiting there, and wants you to embrace it. Live. I may be assuming, but I think he wants you to live your life and not to continue suffering like this."

I was silent for a long moment.

And then reached out and hugged him.

Hugged a stranger, a man I didn't know, and would never see again.

Because his words were just what I needed at that moment.

"Thank you." I whispered.

His arm snaked around me in a tentative grip. "You're welcome."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**The stranger's advice comes from a song that I was listening to as I wrote this chapter: Open up your eyes by Daughtry. Great song!**

**Next Chapter: The four more strangers, two and a half more years...**


	17. The Three Strangers

**A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers. **

**Ok. So I didn't expect the four strangers to take up so much time! So now there are only 3 plus the Blind Scot.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

><p><em>Now, advice isn't always a quick fix.<em>

_You have to accept it and put it into action._

To tell the truth, the advice the blind Scot gave me was one of the hardest "pills" I've ever had to swallow.

I had to recommit myself every day; rain, shine, sleet or snow.

There were days I didn't want to get out of bed. Days I wanted to get through, but my leg made it difficult. And days I was able to grin and bear it.

But I did attempt to get out more, much to Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade's relief.

Fortunately, I was able to keep my stay at 221B with Mrs. Hudson's and Mycroft's (much to my surprise) assistance. Mycroft volunteered to pay the amount that _he_ had been paying.

I was glad I could stay…

…even though 221B would forever be haunted by his lacking presence.

* * *

><p>Six months after the bar incident dragged by...<p>

And before I knew it, it was September again.

On the Anniversary, the first of many, Mycroft arrived at my door later in the morning, giving me time to get myself ready.

"Ready?" He asked, eyeing my cane and Raffles, who were both at my side.

My leg had decided it would cooperate for the moment, but how long would that last, hence the cane.

"As I'll ever be," I replied.

We drove to the cemetery, giving my leg a rest so that I could at least try not to use my cane when we got there.

Fortunately, when we arrived, it continued to behave.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I got to the cemetery.

Maybe I was expecting numbness…

Maybe peace?

I don't know.

Mycroft escorted me to _his_ grave.

It wasn't the first time since the burial that I had been here. In fact, I came once every month without fail. It wasn't the first time that saw the head stone.

_Sherlock Holmes_

_8 July 1976 – 26 September 2012_

"_The Game is ON!"_

Standing before it, I just gazed at the words graved into the marble. It was clean, as I would have expected and well-tended.

Mycroft said a few words to his brother before his phone suddenly rang. He excused himself, telling me to take as much time as I needed.

After he walked away, I returned to staring at the headstone, hands in my pockets, Raffles resolutely by my side. Words refused to come to my lips.

For a long moment, there was just silence and the whisper of the wind in my hair.

"You're not like the others," An unfamiliar voice said to my left.

I turned to look.

An old, rather slouched woman was kneeling by a nearby grave not five paces from me. Her blue eyes were hidden behind thick lenses and her short, white hair shifted in the breeze. She wore a gardener smock over her jeans and button down shirt, a small shovel handle sticking out of the pockets.

"I'm sorry?" I asked; the first words I had spoken since leaving 221B.

"You don't act like the others that come to that grave, dearie, and I'm curious why."

_Oh…_

"I'm not really sure. If you don't mind me asking, how am I different exactly?"

The old woman smiled, several dimples showing. "You are just…really quiet. The man who came with you, he spoke for a good five minutes before walking away, rather calmly. Another man comes here twice a week, older man, graying and tall, he sits by that grave and talks for _hours_. I go as far as to assume that he asks a lot of questions, because he always leaves with his hands in his pockets and head bowed."

_Greg…_

"Then, there's this woman who comes _every day_ without fail, and fusses around the head stone, yacking at it the entire time. Sometimes she comes with flowers. Always something different."

_Martha…_

"But you…I've seen you twice in the past two months and every time you come, you just stand there, hands in pockets and no words to speak."

I sighed. This bothered me too, that I couldn't even speak to _him_ about things happening in my life.

"I…I guess I'm just so use to him always figuring it out. He was a brilliant man, and most of the time I never had to say a word…he would just figure it out."

The woman nodded. "But there were times he couldn't 'figure it out'?"

"Yeah." I said, a small chuckle coming to my lips. "Like when we first met, he was able to deduce from my cell phone that I had a sibling who was worried about me. He wrongfully assumed that she was my brother."

"_Harry is short for Harriet."_

"_Harry is your sister…SISTER! There's always something!"_

The woman chuckled as well.

"He got everything else right." My amusement increasing as another memory flashed through my mind. "And then later that night, he thought I was asking him out over dinner…"

"_You're unattached…like me."_

"_John…I'm flattered but I should inform you that I consider myself married to my work—"_

"_No. That's not what I— What I meant was that, it's all fine."_

"You weren't?"

"God, No! We had just met not 24 hours prior!"

The woman gave me an interesting look, but let my answer remain.

"But then again, he may have been brilliant at reading people's lives from their physic, but he was bloody awful when it came to emotions and romantic intentions." _And I could never read his…if there was any…_

"_Not good?"_

"_A bit not good."_

The woman was silent for a moment. "That sounds like a place to start. If he was able to figure out how you physically were, but was at a loss on the emotions…perhaps, even on the other side, he still is?"

That question gave me pause…and I turned to look back at _his _grave.

…what if…

It couldn't hurt to try.

I nodded to the woman and then turned my attention back to the grave.

"Hey," I said to the stone. "It's me, though I'm pretty sure you've figured that out by now." I took a deep breath. "I'm doing…ok…I guess. I'm still living at 221B, though Mrs. Hudson probably already told you that." I shrugged my shoulders a bit, my hands digging deeper into my pockets. "It's a lot quieter without your 4AM serenades and random experiments…I…I did consider getting a new flatmate…but…" I took a deep breath. "No one could ever replace you at 221B.

"I hope that you're doing better on the other side. Not causing too much trouble…"

I felt like I was talking in circles, avoiding the main point.

_How was I feeling?_

"I'm…I'm just…lonely, I guess. Sure, having Raffles around helps, but…" tears were beginning to form in my eyes. "It's not the same. Especially after what Sally told me a few months back…"

I paused, trying to t regain some calm.

"She told me I would forget you. And…and I don't _Want_ to forget you! I want to remember every detail. Why would I want to forget the man who saved me?" I sighed. "I'm pretty sure she has a lot of issues to work out…maybe she's projecting…I don't know. You know how much I hate psychology."

I took a deep breath. "I know I should try to move on…but for some reason, I just…I just can't. You weaseled your way into my life, S—" my throat closed on me. I swallowed hard. "And even with you…dead…I just…I just…can't dislodge you."

Raffles whined, beating his head against my leg.

Instantly I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around his form, burying my head in his soft fur.

"I miss him, so much, Raffles!" I wept into the black fur. His head nuzzled against mine, telling me it was going to be alright.

That hew was there.

And he'd help me get through.

* * *

><p>It was a Saturday in the middle of November when I encountered another stranger with advice.<p>

I was drawn to a rather beautiful church on my way back to 221B. I had passed it many times in the past…but that day I was drawn inside…

I have never really been truly religious. Sure, my parents taught me to pray and while in Afghanistan I did pray a lot, for myself and my buddies….the thing is, it's hard to believe in freedom when you are suppressed and have to hide.

Now that I know what freedom is…

God looks more attractive.

Maybe He was calling at my heart that day.

As I sat in the church, feeling slightly out of place in the rather empty building, an old man with a long, full white beard and wearing black robes approached the sanctuary.

He was singing.

"_**I heard the voice of Jesus say  
>'Come unto me and rest.<br>Lay down, oh weary one, lay down  
>Your head upon my breast!'<strong>_

_**I came to Jesus as I was  
>So weary, worn and sad.<br>I found in Him a resting place  
>and He has made me glad."<strong>_

I was drawn to the lyrics. _Come and rest? Is that even possible?_

"_**I heard the voice of Jesus say  
>'Behold, I freely give,<br>The living water, thirsty one;  
>Stoop down and drink and live!<strong>_

_Wait. What water? A living stream? How was this water different from any other water?_

"_**I came to Jesus and I drank  
>Of that life giving stream<br>My soul was quenched, my soul revived  
>And now I live in HIM!"<strong>_

The song was making more questions in my mind than giving me answers! I understood that water could restore the body, I was a doctor in the afghan desert for crying out loud!

_Restore the soul?_

…_was he referring to bringing back from the dead?_

"_**I heard the voice of Jesus say  
>'I Am this Dark World's Light.<br>Look unto me, the morn shall rise  
>And all your day's be bright!'"<strong>_

I understood the darkness…all to well….

Could…could I find…a light to follow again?

"_**I looked to Jesus and I found  
>In Him my Star, my Sun!<br>And in that Light of Life I'll walk  
>Till traveling days are done!"<strong>_

The offer looked so…so…indescribably attractive!

Just like the one _he_ offered me more than two years ago…

I wanted to reach out and grasp it so badly…

But fear held me back.

One "light" had already failed me. Actually, many lights had.

_What should make this Jesus any different?_

"Peace, my Daughter," A voice said in front of me.

I looked up from my hands, meeting a set of deep, warm, honey colored eyes of the priest who had sung from the sanctuary not several seconds ago.

"Um…" I said, at a complete loss of how to respond. This wasn't the first contact with a priest…it's just…

My brain _blanked_.

He smiled at me. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

All I could do was nod, my voice refusing to work.

"May I join you?"

I nodded again, moving over in the pew to let him sit. When he did, he adjusted his robe and looked at me.

"I apologize."

I stared at him, disbelief and confusion filling me. I'd only just met him. He hadn't done an—

"My song is distressing you."

_Oh…_

I looked down at my hands.

"It's a very hard song to understand. May I ask, why do you find it so distressing?"

After a long moment, words finally spilled out. "How can one find rest or even peace when the world is rushing by?"

The priest shifted. "Well, that's a tough one, eh?" He asked, a Irish accent coming to the forefront. "The world does not take kindly to those who just want to stop and rest, even for just a moment."

I rubbed my leg subconsciously.

"You know that all too well, don't you?"

I nodded.

We were silent for a moment.

"Dear Child," He began, breaking the silence of the sanctuary. "Did you…lose someone?"

I was becoming use to this.

First the Blind man and now the priest.

I guess it was kinda obvious.

"Yes." I said weakly. "My…my best friend."

The priest looked at me kindly; under his warm eyes…I wanted to cry…I was so…every emotion…

I really just don't know.

"And you wish him to be here with you?"

How he figured that out, I'll never know. I nodded anyway. "I know it's foolish and selfish and stupid…but I—"

He cut me off. "It's not any of those things," He said, kindly, taking my hand in his old, pale skinned ones. "It really isn't, dear child."

I looked into his eyes, tears starting to fall from mine. "T-then w-what is i-i-it?" I didn't care that I was falling apart…in fact, I didn't mind at all. Maybe it was something about the priest…though more likely the building…I felt _safe_ here.

"It's…" He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "That's what love does."

_Love…?_

I scoffed weakly at myself. _Yeah. So I can't admit it to myself all the time? So what?_

_It's hard to admit it when you know that it was unrequited…_

"But isn't being selfish a bad thing? I mean," I tucked a piece of my hair behind an ear. "It's not like he loved me back or anything. I just want him back because…because I…need him."

The priest raised an eyebrow. "How do you know it was unrequited? Did he ever say that?"

"Not in so many words, no," I replied. "But his actions practically screamed it…"

"How did he pass?"

The question was so out of the blue…nah not really.

But I still hadn't been expecting it.

"He…he was killed by a mad…mad man."

"Did he save you?"

This time, I was very shocked.

_How the blazes did he know _that_?_

"Yes, but how—"

"It's written all over your face. You blame yourself for his death, regardless of him being killed by a 'mad man.' Only someone who was ransomed for does that."

I was stunned.

"Daughter, if I may, I'd like to share a secret with you."

All I could do was nod.

He leaned in, as if afraid that someone else would over hear. "The truest form of love is to give up your life for a person, unconditionally."

It was as if I had been struck by a lightning bolt. I didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing.

My mind blanked.

"Your friend, the one who died to save you, loved you so much, dear child. He loved you enough that he didn't care that he was going to die, so long as he kept you safe."

I still couldn't…believe it…

Sure, hearing Lestrade say it was one thing, but a total stranger who didn't _know him_…

It was mind boggling.

_He…He loved…me?_

* * *

><p>The last bit of advice related to <em>him<em> I received a week before the third year anniversary of the fall.

I was having another problem with the pin and chip machine down at the Tecos.

I hate those bloody machines.

Needless to say, I was at my wits end. I had already received 4 texts from Lestrade alone, begging me to come in and see him about something apparently very urgent, a call from Mrs. Hudson letting me know that we had to move our "crap telly" night again because something happened to Ms. Turner, and 5 texts from Harry telling me to call her at my earliest convenience.

I was overwhelmed and not happy.

"Miss," A young voice said from my right.

Taking a deep breath, I tried not to snap at the person…

But I snapped anyway. "What?" I said to a young teenage girl with long brunette hair.

Her face stiffened for a moment, and then she smiled weakly. "Those things are always stubborn. Can I show you a trick?"

I wanted to refuse. Keep my dignity…

But something in her face… an innocence that could withstand my furry at the machine and still smile.

Releasing my pride, I moved aside and let her show me.

"My friend had to show me a few times." She said, her smile still plastered on her face as she moved to the machine and started to fiddle with it.

I took note of what she did.

Within minutes I was checked out.

I smiled at the girl as I took my groceries. "Thank you."

She shrugged, her hands digging into her pockets, rocking on her heels. "It was no trouble at all."

"I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier."

She smiled. "It's alright. I'm glad I could help."

As she finished her statement, her eyes shifted over my shoulder and brightened considerably. Her smile became one so genuine that I had to turn to look and see who she was smiling at.

A tall, auburn haired young man stood some distance away, his eyes looking around. He was perhaps a few months older than the girl.

I turned back to the girl.

"Excuse me," She said politely, with a final smile to me. She waved to the young man and practically pranced in his direction.

I stood and watched her skip over to the man. Watched as she smiled and laughed at something he said. Saw how he looked at her when she did.

And…it reminded me so much of _him_…

_Sometimes the best advice comes when there are no words._

_That girl showed me, in very little words, that help is always around._

_And in actions, she showed me what true love really looked like, that it didn't have to be gushy or even hanging all over the person._

_And…and maybe helped convince me that maybe…maybe Sherlock really had loved me._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**So there are 4 strangers: The Blind Scot, the Old Gardener, The Singing Priest and the Teenage Girl. Each has touched Joan in a different way. **

**The question is; how will this affect her later?**

**Next Chapter: Once Upon a December…**


	18. Once Upon a December

**A/N: You're welcome, in advance.**

**This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful RP-John, Allie! **

**Platonic Lovs, girl! Hope you enjoy this chapter! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: Some strong language.**

* * *

><p>Of all the seasons, I think winter was the hardest those three years.<p>

And not just because _he_ told me that winter was one of _his_ favorite seasons.

It was just…all the couples.

Look around the beginning of December.

Suddenly, everything is alight with small lights, Christmas trees, wreaths, and if you're lucky, Mistletoe.

It's obvious from walking down the street, who has someone to run home too, or running with, and those who aren't.

It's not like I'm cynical or anything. Valentine's Day was just as bad.

But an entire _month…_

A month of miracle, love and hope stories.

For one who lost the best friend she could ever hope to have…it's really hard.

Especially since…

Well…

The December after the fall…I…I almost expected…_him_…to come…back…

I know. I know. Got my head in the clouds and it's just a childish idea, I know.

It still didn't stop me from hoping.

That's not to say that I didn't end up going to the ridiculous Christmas parties Lestrade hosted for the Yard, or even spent Christmas day with Mrs. Hudson, or Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Anthea.

It was the going back and forth from home to somewhere else that made that month…hard.

* * *

><p>It was just like any other December day, a week before Christmas.<p>

I was heading out of 221B to pick up something Mrs. Hudson had asked me to get. Raffles was dogging at my heels, yipping and excited. No amounts of me telling him down were stopping him today! (Though I'm not sure if it had something to do with me going out or that my leg was being good and I didn't need to use my cane…?)

Chuckling a bit, I decided I may as well take him with me, seeing as I knew if I left him alone now; the flat would be a wreck when I got back.

And I really don't like putting Raffles in the cage. He's not a puppy anymore after all.

Pulling on my jacket, I grabbed Raffles' leash from the hook on the wall.

By accident, a scarf fell from the neighboring hook. As I picked it up, I felt my heart pause.

_Even after three years…that scarf had the power to make me pause. _

It wasn't the one he wore _that_ day, rather, the one that he wore _constantly_ when we first met.

It hadn't moved from the hook it had been left on...as if patiently waiting for its master to return.

Raffles whined at me, bringing me back to the present.

I turned to look at him, then back at the scarf, and then a smile crawled onto my face.

Folding the scarf neatly, I tied it around Raffles' neck the same way _he _used to around his own.

Raffles looked at me funny, then smiled and licked my face.

I chuckled, petting the top of his head and then lead him to the door. "Ready to face the cold, boy?"

Raffles nodded and I opened the door.

And found myself face to face with a set of storm colored eyes…

I blinked.

They were still there.

"Joan…" A deep voice said, one that rang through my brain, one I knew...

_But…but that's…that's impossible!_

My brain just…wouldn't…process what happened.

"You wouldn't happen to remember where I put my nicotine patches?"

The only reaction I could come up with was to slam the door, leaning hard against it as I did so, making the sound echo throughout the entirety of 221B.

The next thing I did was call Mycroft.

"This isn't funny." I hissed into the receiver.

"It isn't supposed to be." He replied, a statement, matter of fact.

"Then why is someone who looks like…_him_…at my door?"

"Joan, it's not that hard to understand."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Open the door," Mycroft said, the exasperation in his voice clear as if he was talking to an extremely thick child. "And watch what Raffles does."

And with that, he hung up.

Cursing under my breath, I pocketed my phone and opened the door, watching Raffles the entire time.

A soon as the door was wide enough, Raffles jumped out of the door and launched himself at the man at the door.

Licking his face…

He had only ever done that to one person besides me…

_No…it's impossible…I'm hallucinating. I have to be!_

"Raffles, why won't your Mum say hello?" The man, I refused to think that he was _him;_ said, looking up at me from where he knelt beside my dog.

Raffles turned to me, the scarf around his neck flapping gently in the breeze. He barked at me, the smile on his not so puppy face telling me: "Mum! It's Dad! It really is!"

I looked back at the man, studying him.

Dark hair, curly, slightly longer…

_Longer? No! It's not Him!_

Storm colored eyes…

_Why do I keep thinking storm? Only his eyes were storm!_

Oval shaped face, thin, hasn't been eating…again…

_Again? Oh for the love of—Stop it Joan! It's not him! It can't be!_

His voice…so deep it practically reverberated in my soul.

_It can't be…can it?_

"_When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, Must be the Truth." _That's what he had told me so long ago.

_Had I eliminated the impossible…?_

He stood up, arms outstretched and a smile spreading across his face.

A smile I knew. One that I saw so rarely…but loved none the less…

_Sherlock…_

And then the world went black.

* * *

><p>When I came too, a face came into focus above my head, a worried set of storm colored eyes gazing down at me, a warm hand on my cheek.<p>

"I honestly had not expected you to faint, Joan," The man chuckled. "I never thought you to be the type."

I blinked a few times. _No. Still there._

"Sh-Sherlock?" His name, after years of never being spoken…or even thought …bursts from my lips, tasting of honey and bitterness. "It can't be."

"I'm right here," He said, a smile coming to his face.

"H-how? I-I saw you fall…"

"Come now, Joan. You don't think you could get rid of me _that_ easily, do you?"

I socked him in the face, my fist drilling itself right between his beautiful stormy eyes.

Lord, it hurt.

But it felt so good.

He reeled from the punch, staggering a bit into the living room of 221B, and holding his nose as a bit of blood dripped out. I knew his nose wasn't broken.

But, man, did I wish it had.

"Again, should have seen that coming."

"Damn right you should have." I said, standing. "You son of a gun. Three years, you bloody idiot!"

"It had to be done." He stated simply, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his nose. "It was the only way. The only way to tear apart Moriarty and keep you safe."

"Keep me s—" My fists tightened again. I was furious. "I can handle my own, you idiot! I've saved your arse—"

"That was different!" He yelled his eyes bright and desperate. "That was different, Joan!"

"How so! Tell me, Sherlock Holmes! HOW WAS IT DIFFERENT?"

We stared at each other for a long moment, furry practically burning off of me and desperation pouring off of him.

For a tense moment, neither of us spoke.

"That was before Moriarty wanted you dead…"

I froze.

Sherlock wasn't looking at me now, eyes closed tightly and his hands in fists. "You were the only woman ever to outsmart him. Bad move. Sebastian wasn't just your equal; he was supposed to kill you that day. The only way to stop him; kill Moriarty."

I followed his logic.

It made sense.

"But faking your own death…"

"It was the only way. I had to go underground. No one could know that I was still alive."

"Except your brother."

Sherlock froze.

"I'm not that stupid, Sherlock," But the knowledge that _Mycroft_ had known… "A-am I not trustworthy?"

"Of course you're trustworthy, Joan!"

"Then why did you make me think, for _three years_, that you were _dead!_"

He sighed. "I've already told you! I needed you safe!"

"_DAMMIT, SHERLOCK! I NEEDED YOU ALIVE! AND ALL THIS TIME, I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!" _Tears were now streaming down my face. I wiped them furiously away. "I-I needed you."

I refused to look at him. I had gone three years, barely surviving, thinking he was dead…and now…

It was all a lie.

_Would someone who loved me lie…for three years…?_

It shattered my heart into a million pieces.

And suddenly, a set of arms pulled me into a warm, strong embrace.

And I lost it.

I collapsed against Sherlock's chest, burying my face into his shoulder, arms wrapping around his chest, gripping the back of his shirt as tight as I could.

_He was here._

_He was back._

Painful sobs tore through my chest, tears streaming from my eyes.

I could feel his heart beat under my fingers, his breath on my shoulder as he tucked his head into my neck, something warm and wet on my skin as tears flowed from his eyes, his fingers as they ran through my shoulder length hair.

It was like a key sliding into the correct lock.

We fit.

And every cell in my body started screaming that he was back.

That he was back.

"I won't leave you, ever again." He whispered into my ear.

I gripped him all the tighter.

And for the first time in three years, the tears I cried weren't grief filled.

They were tears of Joy.

After a long while I heard two yips.

I lifted my head from Sherlock's shoulder and looked down to see Raffles and a golden Labrador staring up at us, both wagging their tails and doggy smiling.

I blinked, looking hard at the golden lab.

Then it clicked.

I looked up at Sherlock, our faces really close.

"You? You were the Scot at the park?"

Sherlock smiled. "I thought," He said, the fake accent coming to the forefront. "It was pretty good."

I laughed the truest laugh since before the fall that had escaped me.

And we laughed and held each other for a long, long while.

I felt...

I felt _alive._

_I was alive again!_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**YAY! Sherlock's Back!**

**You know what that means?**

**Only a few more chapters left.**

**If there are any loose ends that still need tying up, please message me them! (my memory is crap so yeah…)**

**Next Chapter: Best Christmas…ever!**


	19. Surprises

**A/N: I am SO sorry this took so long! **

**Again, I messed up on placement. This is not the Christmas Chapter. **

**But enjoy it anyway!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning:** Possibly OOC Sherlock and Joan?

* * *

><p>I don't know how long we stayed locked in that embrace. <em>Hours? Minutes?<em>

It's irrelevant.

All that was relevant was that Sherlock was here and he was _alive._

Sure, I was still a little mad, but who wouldn't be! I thought he was _dead_! He convinced me that he was…for three painful years.

Somehow, Sherlock was able to maneuver us to the couch and we just sat there, shifting positions every now and again until I was lying down on the couch with my head on a pillow in his lap.

I was staring up at his face, memorizing every detail as he stroked my hair and looked around the flat. I'm pretty sure he was convinced he would be able to put me to sleep.

The mere thought of sleep terrified me.

_What if I fell asleep and when I woke up…_

I couldn't even bring myself to finish that thought.

So I focused on memorizing his face….not that I hadn't done that prior to the fall or anything…

Yeah, ok, I had.

Sherlock didn't seem to mind that fact though.

Maybe I was convincing myself that he was alive and well, or maybe I was matching up my memories…finding the differences.

It wasn't until I could no longer see that I realized tears had filled my eyes.

I lifted my hand to wipe my eyes, but another hand was already doing it.

Sherlock was silently brushing the droplets of water away.

I closed my eyes and reveled in his touch. Small tingles of delight spreading across my face. Every nerve sending off signals of pleasure, bringing a smile to my tear stained face. My heart was beating at a steady, though slightly faster than normal, pace.

It was a wonderful feeling.

I didn't want it to end.

His hand moved away from my cheeks, but did not leave my face, fingers trailing down my jaw. Soon, I felt a finger, his thumb, brush my lips.

It was just a brush…

But, dear lord…

The lips have the most nerve ending out of every part of the human body.

Just the slightest touch can be sensed by them.

And that single brush was enough to make a shiver run down my spine.

His hand stopped.

I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. Staring, studying, and gauging my reaction, cataloguing it.

Not a word passed between our mouths, every word passing through our eyes.

_A question…_

_A begging…_

_The need for a confirmation…_

Words can only do so much…

My eyes fluttered shut, sudden exhaustion taking over…

Only to snap back open when there was a pressure on my lips, another kind of pressure, one so different from a thumb.

_Lips…_

For a moment, my body froze, my brain detaching from my body. And then just as quickly, my heart kicked into gear.

_Sherlock Holmes was kissing me!_

Well… this was unexpected.

Ok…so contrary to the fact that I have dated people (mainly women to keep my guise as a man) I have never actually kissed someone or had someone kiss me.

I know that's really weird, but it's the truth.

Ever since I was rather little, just the thought of being kissed sent shivers down my spine (in a bad way). I'm not exactly sure why.

Maybe it's because I have asexual tendencies?

So, Sherlock kissing me…startled me. That's the only word for it.

And I practically fell off the couch because of it.

The kiss lasted only seconds. Sherlock pulled away before I could fall.

And the moment his lips were gone, I missed them.

"Sh-Sherlock?" I stammered my voice oddly shaky.

"I'm sorry." He replied, his voice abrupt.

I was confused, my brain trying (and failing, like it had at the door earlier) to process what he meant.

"I shouldn't have done that."

_What? _"What are you talking about?"

He wouldn't look at me. I slowly sat up.

"I shouldn't have presumed."

"Presumed…that I would want you to kiss me?"

He didn't reply.

I could read it plainly on his face. He was worried he had over stepped a boundary.

He was afraid.

I sighed, shaking my head as a chuckle escaped my lips, lips still tingling from the sparks. "You really are an idiot."

His face shot around, looking me hard in the face, his storm colored eyes confused…but a faint glint of hope shown in them.

Carefully, I climbed into his lap and took his face in my hands. "That was an act I had to put on," I said slowly, my eyes locking on his. "I'm not lesbian or anything…in fact, my dear detective, I'm practically asexual…" I licked my lips, for once, on purpose.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes lighting up.

I leaned in close to him, my lips only a few centimeters from his. "But you're different, Sherlock…" I looked him in the eye. "And I've wanted you to kiss me for a while. So, just kiss me."

He smiled and crossed those mere centimeters…

And the fireworks started all over again.

* * *

><p><em>Funny thing about those kisses…<em>

_They blew my memory to hell…_

* * *

><p>The next memory I can recall was waking up the next morning, still in the clothes I wore the night before, curled up on Sherlock's bed, with his blue coat draped over me.<p>

For a moment, I tried to remember what happened….

And then I panicked.

Had that been real?

Was he real—

That's when I saw him.

Sherlock sat in a chair beside the bed, just looking at me.

I was positive he hadn't slept.

I blushed at him. "Hi…" I said, timidly

"Good morning," He replied, a faint smile coming to his lips. "Did you sleep well?"

I'm not sure what made me do what I did next.

I needed to touch him.

I reached over and grabbed his arm, pulling him with all the strength I possessed from Afghanistan onto the bed, and just hugged him.

I just needed to confirm that he was really there.

I pressed my ear into his chest, listening for the tell-tale _lub-dub_ of the heart.

_Lub-dub…Lub-dub…_

I sighed in relief, collapsing against his chest.

"I'm not going anywhere, Joan," His deep voice reverberated in my ear, his arms wrapping around my shoulders. "Not unless you order me away."

I squeezed him tight, knowing damn well that that was never going to happen.

I lifted my head and smiled at him, my eyes fluttering shut, another question, another request.

_Deduce it for me, Sherlock…_

He leaned down—

And my cellphone rang.

_Of all the times!_

I pulled away from him slightly, just enough to get my phone, but not far enough that I still in his arms.

It was Lestrade.

I answered. "Good morning, Greg."

"Joan," Lestrade said, relief filling his voice. "Can you come down to the station? We have something that we need you to see."

I suppressed a sigh. Sure, Sherlock had only been back for less than 24 hours and nobody knew that he was alive besides me and Mycroft… And I just wanted it to stay that way for a little while longer.

But…duty called…

"I'll be there in an hour."

Lestrade sighed in relief. "Thank you."

I hung up and turned to Sherlock.

"I'm sorry to cut this short."

"I'm coming with you."

I smiled. "Well, I think that would be a good idea. It sounds like Lestrade has a case for me. He sounds like he's stumped…so, I guess I better bring the best consulting detective in the world."

"The only consulting detective," Sherlock corrected.

I rubbed my nose with his, pulling out of his arms. "And does that not make you the best?"

Sherlock grinned. "Go take your shower. I'll meet you in the living room."

I smiled. Just like old time.

* * *

><p>When we walked into Scotland Yard, many of the Yarders did a double take and stared at us.<p>

I'm pretty sure some of them thought they were hallucinating, seeing the man they could have sworn died three years before, waltzing among the desks towards Lestrade's office. His blue coat, the one he had left behind, swishing around his calves.

To be honest, it still was kind of surreal. It coat made him look like a strange phantom.

Though Sherlock, every now and again, brushed the back of his hand against mine, convincing me to the contrary.

Sherlock held open the door into Lestrade's office for me and we walked in.

Lestrade was busy at his desk, rapidly writing something on a sheet of paper.

"Good Morning, Lestrade." Sherlock said.

Greg Lestrade's hand froze at my partner's voice. Slowly, he looked up, his eyes wide and his mouth in a taught line.

When his eyes finally rested on Sherlock, he jumped from his chair, blinking rapidly and rubbing his eyes, as if he couldn't believe what he saw.

I knew the feeling.

"Sherlock?"

"Good to see you Lestrade. I see you've cleaned up Scotland Yard. Got a lot of new people, most of them looking promising."

Lestrade slowly walked around his desk and came to stand before the tall man. They stared at each other for a long time…

And then Lestrade threw a hard sucker punch to Sherlock's face.

"_You bloody idiot._"

Sherlock and I both reeled backwards, him from the strike, me from the shock that Lestrade actually _hit_ Sherlock.

"_You can't just go and die like that and leave Joan all alone!"_

My mouth dropped open. I had never seen Lestrade so furious. Not even when Donovan had said those things…

Sherlock rolled his eyes, wiping his cheek. "I've already talked to her ab—"

"No. Listen to me, you bastard." Lestrade walked right up to him and grabbed his coat front, right by his neck, dragging the taller man down to his level and hissed in his face, fury soaking his words. "I have been with her _every day_ since you…left. I've seen every tear, every struggle, and every taunt. Hell, her _limp_ came back. Some days she couldn't get out of bed. Other days, I didn't see a single smile. Sure, she had her good days, but she was _broken._ And you _left her that way._ I don't care why you did it, but you do _not_ deserve to have Joan Watson dogging at your heels, or even in your life." Lestrade pulled the man closer, his voice dropping in tone, a threat. "Listen and listen good, Sherlock Holmes. If you _ever_ do something like that to Joan again, _I Will Do Whatever it Takes to Destroy You._"

I was touched by Lestrade's father-like protectiveness. Never before had someone been so determined to make sure I was happy.

"Taunt?" Sherlock asked, confusion filling his eyes. "Someone was taunting her?"

"Never mind that." Lestrade replied, pulling Sherlock a bit roughly. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"Every word. Now," a shadow of fury entering his stormy eyes. "Who was taunting Joan?

"It's been taken care of, Sherlock." Lestrade replied, releasing his harsh grip on the consulting detective.

"You're protecting them. How noble of you," Sherlock growled. "Tell me, Lestrade."

"Donovan." I squeaked out, not wanting Sherlock to hurt Greg and knowing that Greg wasn't going to give her away.

But I knew why Sherlock was so desperate to know.

He thought that it was Moran…

_Hm… haven't heard from him in a while…interesting…_

Shaking that thought away, I turned my attention back to Sherlock.

The fury had intensified.

I could see it before it happened.

I grabbed Sherlock's arm in a tight grip. "Don't." I said, my voice as calm as I could make it. "She isn't worth the effort."

Sherlock's stormy eyes locked on mine and slowly…the fury faded to annoyance. After a long moment, the tenseness in his shoulders softened. Only then did I loosen my grip.

And at that very moment, Donovan walked in.

And I knew things would go to hell…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**Gosh darn it! Another cliff! *head-desk* sorry guys! **

**If there are any loose ends that still need tying up, please message me them! **

**Next Chapter: Sherlock surprises everyone, Joan has a question for Sherlock, and Molly makes an appearance at Scotland Yard**


	20. In Which Even the Author is Surprised

**A/N: Sorry this took so bloody long! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: Um...i'm really not sure. though you might want to brace yourself after the third page break...**

**Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

><p><em>I knew hell was going to break loose…<em>

Lestrade and I froze as Donovan made her appearance, both of us tensing, ready to spring Sherlock should he attempt to attack Donovan.

Come on…it's not that unlikely. I've seen him beat crooks up.

It had honestly startled me.

Yet, once again, my flatmate possesses the power to surprise everyone…

He turned slowly to face Donovan, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip, but never reaching his eyes.

Donovan's eyes, however, began to widen at a startling rate.

"Hello, Sally. Moved on from Anderson I see…" Sherlock said.

I wanted to slap him.

Sally stood there like a fish that had suddenly been removed from water, gaping, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

I had to admit later that it was quite an amusing face.

But I stood there, the tenseness in my shoulders beginning to make my wound ache, praying that Sherlock wasn't going to go for her throat.

He didn't.

This shocked me… his face darkened, and his "deducing" expression coming to the forefront. "You've gained quite a bit of weight since I last I saw you, but obviously have been trying to lose it considering the growth of your triceps surae…"

Sally just stood there in utter shock as Sherlock deduced the last three years of her life in perfect detail.

Lestrade and I were open mouthed in astonishment, though we should have expected this.

This is Sherlock after all.

"Sh…Sherlock?" was all Sally could say when Sherlock had finished.

"Obvious." His face darkened even more. "And if I hear that you say something that upsets Joan ever again…" His tone is enough of a threat.

Sally physically shrinks away.

Finally I can move. I grasp Sherlock's arm, silently telling him that I'm alright.

His response isn't as obvious to Sally or Lestrade, he still looks incredibly intimidating, but I could see the change. His shoulder muscles eased and his arm stopped shaking.

I turned to Lestrade. "You have something for us?"

Lestrade blinked, coming out of whatever deep thoughts had possessed his mind. "Oh. Yes." He goes to his desk.

Sally still stands there in a stare off with Sherlock.

Lestrade lifted a file and handed it to me. "I found this earlier this week. I haven't been able to give it to you. It's rightfully yours."

"Mine?" I asked, releasing Sherlock's arm and taking the folder. Sherlock's attention moves from Sally to the file.

"Yes. It's your parent's case."

Sherlock and I both stiffen.

Suddenly, the file seems to weigh a hundred pounds. I stare at the manila colored folder.

_This will explain everything._

_Who I am._

_What happened that day…_

_Everything._

And yet…I was afraid to open it. Scared stiff.

I could tell my left hand was beginning to shake.

Until Sherlock rested one of his large, nimble fingered hands over it. Instantly my hand stilled.

Sherlock was here. I could face anything.

"You can read it later," Sherlock whispers. "If it distresses you so."

I felt heat rise on my checks. He was so _close_…

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see Lestrade and Donovan's faces.

Sally's face was akin to an odd mix of disgust and "I'm going to be sick…"

Greg's face had reverted back into his previous expression, putting pieces together…fast.

I coughed awkwardly, squeezing Sherlock's hand slightly with my fingers and then pulling away. I looked up at Greg and smiled the best I could. "Do you mind if I take this with me?"

"Of course not," Greg Lestrade said, his smile softening. "Take all the time you need."

Lestrade's phone beeped, an alarm that I had come accustom to go off at noon.

Molly was here on her daily visit.

A smile touched my lips as Sally rolled her eyes.

As if on cue, Dimmock opened the door to Lestrade's office. "Bo…" He stopped himself the moment he saw Sherlock. Eyes widening. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled at the younger detective. "Dimmock, pleasure to see you again."

Slowly, a smile starts to crawl over Dimmock's face. He looks out the door for a moment and then returns with a very nice looking Molly in hand.

Molly takes one look at Sherlock and bounds up to him, hugging him tightly around the neck.

What surprises me even more is that Sherlock, awkward as it may have been, returns the hug. "Thank you so much…" He whispers, continuing to say something to her that I could not hear.

But then again, it wasn't something I needed to know.

When she pulled away, she wiped some stray tears from her cheeks and smiled up at the consulting Detective.

Sherlock took a good look at her, a smile coming to his face. He leans down and whispered something else to Molly. Molly blushed and smiled wider, nodding.

She practically skipped back to Dimmock's side, snaking her arm into the crook of his.

Dimmock smiled at his fiancé before looking at Lestrade. "We are off to lunch. You all are welcome to join us."

Lestrade's eyes flew to me. Mine going to Sherlock and then back to Molly.

"Why not?"

* * *

><p>Lunch was utterly fantastic.<p>

Molly and Dimmock took Lestrade, Sherlock and I Angelo's actually.

Angelo went crazy at the sight of Sherlock.

With strength I didn't know he possessed, he lifted the taller man from his chair, hugged him, kissed his cheeks in true Italian fashion, and then shook him, yelling loudly in Italian.

"Stupido! Si va al largo e convincerci che sei morto e poi mostrare di nuovo! E lasciato Joan tutto solo! Idioto!"

I started chuckling at Sherlock's face! It was priceless. Like he was trying to hold back a laugh and confused out of his mind.

It made my day.

I don't think I'll ever be happier than I was those two days.

* * *

><p>Sherlock and I were giggling when we got back to 221B.<p>

Giggling like we had after chasing the cabbie through London during the case I later dubbed _A Study in Pink_…

That made me laugh even harder.

Sherlock was watching me as he laughed. It was good to have him here.

I reached out and hugged him, completely on impulse.

He stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed slowly, his arms folding over me. I could hear his heart beating steadily by my ear.

And with the pounding of our hearts synchronizing, a question came to my lips.

"So what are we?"

I'm pretty sure Sherlock stopped breathing for a second.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I said, trying to keep my voice under control. "Unless you move back in, we aren't flatmates. We never really identified what we were before you fell…so I really have no idea where we stand. Are we friends? Friends don't usually kiss and just keep going on as friends. Everyone assumed we were already lovers, but I don't think we are that either. So—"

Sherlock lifted my head up, rather quickly, putting two fingers to my lips to silence me.

"Stop thinking so hard for a moment, Joan." He whispers, his voice husky, sending shivers down my spine. "Do you want me to move back in?"

I nodded without hesitation, my knees barely keeping me upright at the thought. _Oh God, yes._

Sherlock smiled. It was a glorious smile. One I had missed so much.

"As to what we are…I don't think we can really define that. The world likes labels…"

I was barely suppressing a giggle.

"Though there has been one label that I have started to like. Became quite fond of it for you, Joan…"

I tilted my head to the side, silently asking what that was.

He leaned down, his lips very close to my ear and whispered one word that sent my whole world reeling.

"_Wife."_

I started giggling.

I'm serious.

He had only been back for 24 hours and was…asking me to marry him?

It was almost ridiculously hilarious.

This kind of thing only happens in movies, right?

I removed his fingers from my lips. "But I thought—Sherlock Holmes, are you asking what I think you are?"

Sherlock looked nervous as he nodded, clearing his throat. "I am." He bit his lip and then continued. "Joan, I've gone three years without you in my life for every second. It was hard. I did it to save you, but I could never go another day without you…"

He's was fiddling with something in the pocket of his long coat.

My heart was racing. "Sherlock…"

"I meant to give you this that day in the park three years ago." He said, pulling whatever he was fiddling with out of his pocket.

I'm pretty sure my heart stopped at the sight.

It was a ring.

A simple, silver band, nothing special or flashy.

But it was beautiful.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

"I know several years ago I said I was married to my work," He said, his eyes finally meeting mine. "But is it fair to say that…that you, Joan Watson, have become my work?"

I was completely and utterly speechless.

All that was flashing through my mind was the day I moved in…

"_Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths."_

"_Yes."_

"_A bit of trouble too."_

"_Yes. Enough…Enough for a life time. Far too much."_

"_Want to see some more."_

"Oh God…yes!"

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><p><strong>AN: ok…where the bloody hell did THAT COME FROM! I'm serious. I never planned for that to happen! Sherlock, you dog, what are you doing!**

**I hope you don't mind too much! Forgive me please!**

**Please review. Your reviews help me with the plot! Thank you so much! **

**If there are any loose ends that still need tying up, please message me them! **

**Next Chapter: "…You can imagine the Christmas Dinners…" (for real this time)**


	21. The Folder and Christmas

**A/N: I'm so sorry that this took so long! And that it is so short! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Warning: I appologize. This is not the best chapter i have written. Please forgive the poor quality.**

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><p>I stared at the folder in front of me.<p>

Daring me to open it. To learn it's secrets.

To know what had really happened to my parents.

But…

But I couldn't.

I closed my eyes, memories of my parents from before that day flashing through my mind.

_Mother… Father… which such lovely smiles on their faces. _

_Father bringing me and Harry candy on special days, and reading stories to us every night that he could._

_Father and Mother in an embrace, one that they always shared when Father returned home. One full of love…_

Memories, such sweet memories.

Would what this folder contain spoil those memories?

I stared at the file for a long while.

Resting my hand on the top part, my left hand, I stared at the manila color.

No.

I would keep the memories just as I had them.

Maybe in the future, someday before I die, I'll read that folder.

But until then, I'll hold tightly to the memories I have.

I returned the folder to Lestrade the next day, a smile on my face.

"Hold on to this for me. I'll read it when I'm ready."

* * *

><p>"<em>You can imagine the Christmas Dinners…"<em>

Mycroft told me that several years ago.

Now, I was going to the Holmes' house for that very dinner.

I wasn't sure if I should be scared or excited.

As I pulled on the red dress that had mysteriously showed up in my bedroom the day before, I thought about the folder that Lestrade had given me.

After several hours of recovering from the fact that Sherlock proposed to me—_to me, of all people—_we discovered a single note on the kitchen table.

A message from Mycroft…inviting both of us (well, ordering in Sherlock's case) to Christmas at Mrs. Holmes' home.

Ok. I'll admit.

I'm bloody terrified.

Because I was going to meet the infamous "Mummy Holmes," but not as Sherlock's friend or colleague like we were for years, and still technically are.

No. I'm meeting her as his _fiancé._

Her soon to be daughter-in-law.

What if's buzz around in my brain as I struggle to zip up the last inch of the Christmas dress Molly gave to me. My hand was shaking. Everything about me was screaming nervous and totally losing my cool. I wouldn't need Sherlock to deduce that for me.

And why shouldn't I be nervous?

Suddenly, a warm hand grasped mine, effectively stopping me from struggling.

I froze. Muscles tensing, ready to fight, military training simmering beneath the surface.

The fingers began to stroke my hand. "Calm down, Joan. It's me."

How the devil he got into my locked room, I will never know.

I sighed, the fight fleeing me, leaving me exhausted and scared.

He releases my hand, but just for a moment. Just long enough to zip the rest of the zipper up the last inch. Then seized my hand again.

"Stop worrying." He whispered in my ear. "You look…fantastic."

To say shivers weren't running down my spine would be a lie.

I squeezed his hand, and heard the car horn from Mycroft's "taxi".

It was time to go.

* * *

><p>The Holmes' house was not exactly what I had expected.<p>

And I use the term "house" loosely.

It's a bloody mansion.

Needless to say, I felt severely inadequate.

Sherlock led me into the mansion by the arm, at a leisure pace, letting me take in the details of the front of the "home."

"Come now, Sherlock." A voice said from the door. "Don't keep Mummy waiting."

My eyes snapped to the speaker. Mycroft.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slowed his pace, just to annoy his brother.

I chuckled, leaning towards his ear. "Behave, dear."

Sherlock lifted a brow at me, silently asking me why he should.

"Do you want to keep that head you have salivating in the fridge?"

Sherlock smiled a bit, just a little. "You won't do that."

"Maybe," I lifted an eyebrow. "You never know…I might surprise you. Though it's that or denying you a kiss for a month, so…take your poison."

Sherlock face turned from amusement to thinking to amusement. "Well, that would certainly ruin several more experiments that I have in mind…"

I barely suppressed a giggle.

He led me a bit quicker to the door where Mycroft waited for us with a smirk.

"Good to see you again, Joan. You are looking beautiful tonight."

"Thank you, Mycroft," I replied, greeting him with a handshake which quickly changed into him kissing my knuckles.

After several minutes, we found ourselves in a large, what appeared to be a greeting hall.

A woman sat by the large stain glass window on the opposite side of the hall. She stood as we walked in. Another woman appeared from the shadows, Anthea.

And I recognized the other woman.

She smiled at me, sure she looked younger than when I had seen her last, and still graceful.

It was the woman gardener from the cemetery.

"Joan Watson," She said in greeting, walking quickly for her age towards the three of us as we

Sherlock gave his mother a strange look but introduced her none the less. "Joan, this is my mother, Audrey Holmes."

I reached out to give the woman a hand shake and was pulled into an embrace.

"I'm so glad to properly meet the woman who swept my son off his feet." Mrs. Holmes whispered into my ear.

* * *

><p>Soon we were seated at the Christmas table.<p>

And I finally understood what Mycroft had meant.

Sherlock reverted to the mentality of a two year old.

It was quite amusing.

Particularly when landed a large spoonful of Christmas pudding on Mycroft's suit.

The older man glared. He had put up with a lot during dinner, regardless of my attempts to rein Sherlock in.

But the pudding appeared to be the last straw.

Slowly, very slowly, Mycroft reached for something on his plate. From my angle, I couldn't see exactly what it was.

Sherlock barely had time to duck before a piece of cake went soaring over his head…striking Anthea as she was heading back to her seat.

And that's how we got into a massive Christmas food fight.

"GET HIM!"

When there was no more food to throw and all of us were laughing from behind our chairs, covered in food, Mrs. Holmes called out. "Alright, children. Off to the showers with you. Individually. I will have no indecency in my home."

Mycroft and Sherlock chuckled, while Athena and I grinned. "Yes, Mother."

Before leaving the room, I checked my left ring finger and breathed a sigh of relief when the silver band around it shown back at me.

No one had yet to comment on it.

But I was pretty sure all the Holmes' knew it.

* * *

><p>It was Mrs. Holmes that pulled me aside first.<p>

"Joan," She beckoned as I stepped out of the room I had been given to change in, a smile on her face. "We're waiting in the fire lounge. Care to walk with me?"

Smiling I walked over to her. "Of course, Mrs. Holmes."

"Audrey, please." The woman said, linking her arm through mine, brushing the smooth fabric of the new dress (made of silver, shimmery, but very soft fabric, went to my knees and covered my shoulder). "Or Mummy if you wish, seeing as you will be family soon."

I chuckled. "Knew that we wouldn't be able to keep it a secret for long."

Audrey chuckled with me. "My son isn't always subtle. He did tell me much about you over the years."

I left my expression causal. Of course Audrey would know that her son was safe and sound.

"_Say hello to mummy…" _That's what Mycroft had said.

Of course.

So this had been his "base."

And for some reason, I wasn't surprised.

"He had such wonderful things to say about you."

Though I was curious, I did not trust my voice to speak, the fact that Sherlock had done that to me still raw.

"I remember asking him why he left you alone after that day at his grave." She said as our walk slowed. "He hated leaving you behind. He begged Mycroft every day to tell him how you were." We stopped walking and I was just staring at her now. "Oh and the things Mycroft would say. I knew they were true. Mycroft doesn't lie when Sherlock was that desperate. Most days, we had to put Sherlock under house arrest to prevent him from going out and revealing that he was alive too soon. He knew he had to stop Moriarty…but it tore him apart every day that he was away from you. Many times I had to force him to bed, like he was 5 years old again."

She reached up and stroked my cheek, a soft caress, one very similar to the ones my mother would give me before going to sleep. "And now he is with you again, and he looks so much…livelier. Never have I seen him so happy. And you did that to him, Joan. And I thank you."

Hearing such kind words from my fiancé's mother sent tingles down my spine and made my eyes sting.

_I make him…happy._

"I shall be honored to have you as my daughter-in-law."

Tears fell like rain.

I was going to have a mother again.

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><p><strong>AN: And the Next Chapter is the Final Chapter! **

**Please review. I love hearing what you all feel about my story.**

**Also, thank you very much to SocioJam who made this marvelous promo video! **

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**Next Chapter: Wedding bells **


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